


my heart belongs to daddy

by undercookeddaichi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Fluff, Groping, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Sex, Sugar Baby Akaashi, Sugar Daddy AU, akaashi and kiyoko are coworkers, dark bokuto, eventual druglord au, just generally boys being gay and horny, kenma and akaashi are roommates, sugar baby kenma, sugar daddy bokuto, sugar daddy kuroo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercookeddaichi/pseuds/undercookeddaichi
Summary: Sugar daddies sound like too much work for Akaashi Keiji. It doesn't matter if his roommate Kenma has one, or if he's a broke university student struggling to get by.Enter millionaire CEO Bokuto Koutarou. Suddenly, a little spoiling doesn’t sound so bad...
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, mentioned kiyoyachi - Relationship, not mentioned but assume kagehina
Comments: 324
Kudos: 991





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read tags 💕
> 
> *i post updates abt chapters on tumblr sometimes 🥺*

“I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

“I thought the same thing.” 

Keiji can see Kenma eyeing him in the mirror. He pretends not to notice, instead staring at his own fingers weaving through Kenma’s hair. A braid, pinned to the tastefully messed bun Keiji spent fifteen minutes on. 

Tendrils frame Kenma’s face, although one is tucked behind his ear. He’ll inevitably tuck them both behind his ears before he leaves. Keiji notices. 

“You should get your color redone soon,” Keiji says, still refusing to meet Kenma’s eyes in his reflection. “Do you want me to make an appointment for you?” 

“If you don’t mind.” Kenma pulls at his shirt collar. 

Keiji had never seen anything like it, until it arrived with Kenma’s weekly gifts last month. Velvet, the same color as a diamond, a dress shirt the style of a button-up without the buttons. He did Kenma’s makeup to match, brushed a hint of silver glitter on Kenma’s eyelids. Gloss that looks like water in dim lighting on his lips. 

Keiji nods. “I’ll make it for Monday unless he has other plans for you.” 

“Monday morning,” Kenma says. “He has another event that night.”

“I take it you want me to do your makeup then, too.”

“If I tried to do it myself, I don’t think I would have a sugar daddy anymore.”

“I doubt that.” 

“You don’t know him.” Kenma makes a face in the mirror, at the way his pants hug his waist. “You see the things he makes me wear.” 

“This is why I don’t want a sugar daddy.” Keiji leaves Kenma to resume reading at the counter. He brings his tea to his bottom lip, unflinching as it burns. “I don’t want to be told what to wear.” 

“It’s worth my tuition.” 

Keiji watches as Kenma slips into heeled pumps by their apartment door. Another gift. 

“Call if you need anything.” He returns to his book. 

“I can’t think of anything I would need that Kuroo couldn’t handle.” 

“Good,” Keiji says. “I’ll be at work.” 

“Sucks to be you.”

Keiji peers over the top of his book, but Kenma’s still slipping into his heels. He allows himself a small moment of pride for his roommate’s makeup, admiring the soft glow about Kenma’s cheeks. He made the right decision choosing that highlighter. 

Working part-time in the mall’s cosmetic department has its perks. 

Keiji has to give himself some credit for Kenma procuring a sugar daddy to begin with. A little more than six months ago, that ridiculous party downtown Keiji can’t remember why they agreed to go to. But it was the beginning of the semester and Hinata invited them, so of course Kenma accepted, and they shouldn’t have been drinking beforehand, but they were, and Keiji ended up doing both his and Kenma’s makeup. 

With the way Kenma looked that night, it’s no surprise Kuroo Tetsurou found him in the crowd. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, who Keiji insisted was a bad idea up until recently. What else was he supposed to think, when a disgustingly wealthy CEO offered to pay for Kenma’s university tuition and then some for… favors. At least Kuroo’s only thirty-three, which isn’t an egregious age difference. 

These events that Kuroo drags Kenma to, the ones Keiji has to help Kenma get ready for, allegedly these types of events are dinners filled with all of Tokyo’s wealthiest businessmen. Kenma says Keiji could take his pick. That they’re always on the hunt for more playthings. That vulnerable university boys are their favorites. 

“It’s not about love.” Kenma had told him. “It’s about rent and tuition.” 

But Keiji refused. He still refuses.

It doesn’t matter that he’s gay. 

It doesn’t matter that he hates his job at the mall. 

It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have time to eat between work and studying. 

“I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

The buzzer by the door rings. 

Neither of them needs to check it to know who’s waiting outside. 

“I’ll be home late,” Kenma says, double-checking his clutch. 

Keiji doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to seeing Kenma of all people, holding a sparkling clutch at his side. Kenma, his roommate of a year who stays up until five gaming, and subsists on nothing but soda. 

“Be safe,” Keiji tells him. 

“Kuroo won’t let anything happen to me.”

Kenma disappears through their door. On his way to be shown off and fucked senseless for this month’s rent, no doubt. 

Keiji slips his glasses off, setting them beside his tea on the counter.

He has a six-hour shift tonight. His least favorite, because he has to close everything up, too. Not to mention the modern literature essay he has due the day after tomorrow. 

Money aside, a sugar daddy would only make his life more stressful. 

He changes into his work uniform. Just black khakis and a dress shirt. He dabs a little mascara on his lashes, some blush on his cheeks. With his bag filled with books he needs to read for class, he locks up and hurries for the 4:30 bus. 

It only occurs to him when he steps into the mall that he hasn’t eaten anything today. That’s nothing new. 

“Your mascara is a little smudged. Let me help.” Kiyoko says as Keiji steps behind the cosmetics counter. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

While she dabs the corner of his eyelid with a makeup wipe, Keiji tries and fails to imagine what smudged mascara would look like on her. Kiyoko’s face seems to be eternally flawless. The slit in her eyebrow finer than glass, her beauty mark a lilypad. Her usual black aesthetic, black lipstick plumping soft lips and a choker that looks a little too tight, eyeliner seemingly drawn by God herself, it stands out against artificial mall lighting. 

Work is work. Keiji tries his best to read and take notes, balancing a notebook on his knee and the book he wishes he could enjoy more in one hand. But there are more customers than usual, and they end up working late.

They deal with the usual array of girls doing a poor job of flirting subtly with Keiji, and the boys who stare a bit too long in Kiyoko’s direction. If only they knew Kiyoko’s as gay as Keiji is.

Kiyoko asks for help with inventory as their shift ends. It takes an extra forty-five minutes, but Keiji is more than happy to help. He’s almost numb to his exhaustion at this point. He’s numb to other things, too, like the way Kiyoko blushes when her cutesy, blonde girlfriend comes to walk her home. 

Keiji doesn’t have time for a relationship. That’s even more work than a sugar daddy. 

By the time he struggles with his keys back at the apartment, it’s half past midnight. He drops his things on the counter, making a beeline for Kenma’s energy drink collection. He might as well knock his essay out now. 

He slumps down at his desk, but only lasts ten minutes before his eyes start to slip shut. So much for the liquid heart attack he just chugged.

If it weren’t for an abrupt banging noise from the kitchen, he probably would’ve fallen asleep. 

“Kenma?” Keiji murmurs aloud. He blinks profusely as he gets up out of his chair, peering into the hallway.

More shuffling, more footsteps, more than one voice. 

Through shadows, he tries to see into the kitchen.

His breath catches in his throat.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s seen Kuroo. Mainly, Keiji gasps at the sight of Kenma perched on their counter, as Kuroo assaults his neck with kisses, and the stranger behind them both. 

“Tetsu, come on,” Kenma sighs. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s-” Kuroo separates his words with kisses on Kenma’s collarbones. “Too- Long.” 

“He’s just showing off.” The stranger pipes up, crossing his arms across his chest. “Want me to tell him to knock it off?” His voice reverberates, even though it’s nearly one in the morning, and shouldn’t he be quieter? 

Keiji finds himself staring at the stranger’s arms. 

Those arms. 

“Oh, fuck, Keiji? Is that you?” Kenma suddenly asks. 

Keiji stiffens. Heat floods his already red cheeks as he realizes the three of them are staring, and he didn’t even notice because he was staring at those stranger’s arms. 

“Sorry,” Keiji says quickly, starting to duck away back to his bedroom. 

“Wait,” Kenma slips off the counter. “Did we wake you? You usually sleep through us coming in.” 

“Oh. No, you didn’t wake me. I was working on an essay.” Keiji nervously pulls at his fingers.

“Tetsu was just dropping me off. That’s Bokuto-san, his friend.” 

“More like business partner.” Kuroo grins. 

“Nice to meet you!” Bokuto smiles, too, at Keiji. 

“Oh.” Keiji processes things for a moment before remembering his manners. He gives a small bow. “It’s good to meet you. Bokuto-san.” 

“What’s your roommate’s name, Kenma?” Kuroo asks.

“Akaashi Keiji,” Keiji replies. 

He doesn’t know why he gave his name so readily. 

Maybe it’s because he was still staring at Bokuto, and those arms of his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! i cant believe i haven’t written a bokuaka fic yet !! i think i was waiting for a plot that really excited me, and i finally found it :,)  
> regarding this au, akaashi & kenma are both university students in their early twenties (think 21-22ish) and bokuto & kuroo are in their thirties!  
> also this is the reference [shirt](https://www.ebay.com/itm/274449044351) i used for kenma bc i think he would look fucking amazing in it~
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this 1st chapter :D kudos, comments, & feedback are always appreciated!! 🥺💝
> 
> !!! reminder to have a snack, drink some water, and take a nap if you’re sleepy ~ i love you 💕 MWAH
> 
> [my tumblr](https://undercookeddaichi.tumblr.com/)!! ✨✨ if you want to come say hi :))  
> [my instagram!!](https://instagram.com/leftoverbokuto?igshid=1jmbu8777iur)  
> [my ko-fi 🥺](https://ko-fi.com/undercookeddaichi)


	2. Chapter 2

Paper. Keiji opens his eyes to paper stuck to his cheek and a mild headache. 

He blinks, presses fingertips to his lower eyelids as he sits up and haphazardly organizes paper covered in words he doesn’t remember writing. It’s 11:30 AM according to his phone screen. Three hours past when he usually wakes up. 

Then again, he must have fallen asleep around five. He couldn't fall asleep after Kuroo and that stranger, that Bokuto, left the apartment. Kenma showered once they did, and then settled down for a night with his Switch. Keiji swears he could hear Kenma pressing buttons on his controller despite two closed doors between them. He can’t fall asleep with noise. 

He can’t fall asleep when his mind is distracted, either.

Arms. 

Attempting his essay seemed like a good idea at 3 AM, but the incoherent mess of ink he tries to decipher proves otherwise. He adjusts a curl behind his glasses, his heart dropping as he remembers this is the essay that’s due tomorrow. And he has work today. 

Coffee.

Keiji tidies up his desk, discarding crumpled papers and gently putting pens back in their holder. He changes out of his work uniform, grateful he has a spare because these clothes are disgusting, slipping into a sweater and sweatpants that used to fit better. 

It’s Sunday, meaning Kenma is on the couch with his switch, posture almost painful to look at as Keiji walks into the kitchen. 

“Coffee?” Keiji asks, pulling out the coffee maker. 

“I’m fine.” 

But Keiji pours him a cup anyway, a tablespoon of sugar and a splash of five-hour energy. Kenma usually ends up staring forlornly in the coffee pot even when he says he doesn’t want any. Or he’ll at least enjoy how the mug warms his hands. 

An hour later, Kenma doesn’t look up from his switch as he says, “Keiji.” 

“Hm?” Keiji doesn’t look up from his book.

“Tetsurou wants you to come to dinner tomorrow.” 

“What?” Keiji’s eyebrows crinkle. “Me? Why on earth would he want that?” 

“I don’t know. But he asked, and I would like it if you came.” Kenma pauses whatever game he’s playing. “He asked before he left last night. You don’t have to, but it would be nice. Only for a little while.” 

“Where’s dinner?”

“I don’t know. One of the upscale restaurants downtown.”

“You mean one of those upscale restaurants downtown where all those horny businessmen get together.”

“I don’t think anyone would bother you.”

“And why exactly does Kuroo-san want me there?”

Kenma shrugs, staring at his toes. “He didn’t give me a reason. I guess just to be polite, since he knows you’re my friend.” 

Keiji looks down at his book, at the sentence at the top of the page, and back up at Kenma’s face, hidden behind black-blonde hair. 

Mondays are the only days Keiji doesn’t have work. His essay is due at midnight, so he won’t have much to do after class tomorrow.

Still. Kuroo Tetsurou, essentially a stranger to Keiji, personally inviting him along to those sketchy dinner “events” he brings Kenma to. It’s strange. 

“There’s free food.” Kenma says. “Rich people food. It’s really good. You can take some home.” 

It’s strange, but Keiji never has time to eat, and he could use a night out. 

“Fine. I’ll go with you.” 

“Thanks.” Kenma meets Keiji’s eyes through his bangs. Those soft eyes Keiji feels jealous of, sometimes. 

“What’s the dress code?” 

“Formal. You know what Tetsurou makes me wear.” 

Keiji nods. He mentally sifts through his closet.

“I’m sure I have something.” 

At work, Keiji sees this button-up with flowing sleeves on his way to cosmetics. It’s dark, turquoise like the ocean at night, and the color of his eyes. Kenma’s voice in his head convinces him to buy it, even if tomorrow is just an unnecessary dinner with wealthy strangers. Even if the shirt costs five hours of minimum wage. 

Keiji wishes he wasn’t as self-conscious as he is. It’s difficult hiding that from people, behind indifferent words and his constant attempt to feel in control. But he’s anxious about tomorrow even still, anxious about wearing the right thing and not eating too much and what those wealthy strangers will think when they see him. 

He wishes things like these didn’t make him anxious. 

A girl asks Keiji for his opinion on which shade of foundation she should buy an hour before his shift ends. Her boyfriend crosses his arms behind her. Keiji can’t help but notice that his arms aren’t as muscled as that stranger’s. That Bokuto’s. 

He really shouldn’t be thinking about things like that. 

Monday evening comes much too quickly for Keiji, when Kuroo should be picking them up in thirty minutes but he hasn’t started his own makeup. 

Kenma is ready in a black ribbon blouse, and pants that plump his ass, double-winged eyeliner done by Keiji to match. 

“What does Kuroo-san do for a living again?” Keiji asks as he gets ready. 

“He’s a CEO.”

“Of what?”

“Some property management company. Real estate, I guess.”

“And exactly how rich is he?”

“Richer than you can imagine.” Kenma says, redoing a clip in his hair. “I think he told me he owns two helicopters.”

“Why would any single person need two helicopters?”

“Why would any single person have a fleet of cars driving them everywhere. He’s just rich.” 

Keiji puts the cap on his mascara. The turquoise shirt was a good idea. 

Outside, he sees what Kenma meant as three black sudans wait in front of their apartment building. Kuroo steps out of the middle one, smiling at the both of them. Excited. Bathed in wealth with a charcoal suit and vest and matching watch. A black diamond ring on his thumb. 

His smile has a quality to it that makes Keiji’s chest feel tight, something about his eyes getting darker, the hint of his tongue behind his bottom lip. It’s a wealthy smile, Keiji doesn’t know how but it is, and something else, too. 

The kind of smile Keiji would expect a sugar daddy to have. 

Keiji slides into the backseat, but Kenma pauses outside the car beside Kuroo. They kiss, Kuroo wrapping an arm around Kenma’s waist, lower than that as he nearly forces Kenma onto tiptoes with his ass propped up in Kuroo’s hold. A different kind of arm muscles than that Bokuto, but muscles nonetheless. 

After a moment that drags on longer than Keiji wants it to, Kuroo seems like he’s about to force his tongue down Kenma’s throat in the middle of the sidewalk until Kenma puts a hand on his chest. A few more seconds, and then they’re joining Keiji in the backseat. 

Kuroo keeps a tight grip around Kenma’s waist. Kenma looks pleased about that. 

“Well,” Kuroo starts a minute or so into the drive. “I’m happy you agreed to join us tonight, Akaashi-san.” He smiles over Kenma’s shoulder, at Keiji. That smile sugar daddies probably have. “You look beautiful.” 

Keiji reddens. He’s grateful the reflection of traffic lights hide his cheeks. 

“Thank you.” 

“So what do you do for a living? You’re a student like Kenma, aren’t you?” 

“Yes. Kenma and I attend the same university.” 

“I thought so.” Kuroo nods, looks back out the window. “What are you studying?”

“Literature.”

“Ah! You know, I was almost a literature major, back when I was your age,” Kuroo says, although Keiji doesn’t consider him to be that much older. 

“Mm.” Keiji looks down at his fingers in his lap. “What did you end up studying?”

“Business.” 

“Of course.”

Keiji thinks he sees Kuroo’s hand slip in between Kenma’s thighs. He looks out the window instead. 

“And then, of course, there’s my favorite game development major.” 

“Why don’t you wait until dinner to talk about me,” Kenma says. 

“What’s the matter?” Kuroo laughs, a laugh that sounds like nighttime. “Am I embarrassing you, kitten?” 

_Kitten._

Keiji stiffens, feeling more uncomfortable than he already was. What’s even more unsettling is how Kenma seems to tilt his head a little, a faint smile tugging his lips, when Keiji was almost certain his roommate would lash out at a pet name like that. Kitten. 

He can’t deny it’s fitting. 

“Shut up, Tetsu.” 

Kuroo keeps smiling at Kenma, like he’s silver. 

Keiji figures the whole ride is going to be like this, so he clears his throat, folds his hands in his lap. “Kuroo-san.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you want me to come to dinner tonight?”

Kuroo smirks. At least, Keiji can’t see him smirk, but he hears a soft exhale from Kuroo’s nose. It sounds like a smirk. 

“I want to get to know Kenma’s friends better. What better way than dinner?”

“Is that all?”

“Do you think I have another reason, Akaashi-san?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I see.”

The car pulls up to a restaurant that looks like a hotel and Keiji doesn’t waste time stepping onto the sidewalk. The carpeted sidewalk, with red cloth that looks more expensive than his clothing. 

With Kenma on his arm, Kuroo leads them to the entrance. A few men in front of the mahogany doors open them at the sight of Kuroo alone, but Keiji notices the same men I.D. a couple behind them. 

Kenma doesn’t seem to think twice about it, so Keiji tries to do the same. 

They enter a dining room, or a dining foyer seems to be more appropriate, spacious yet filled with tables and chairs and black and white and red and lace. There’s a bar in the back, high top tables against the walls. Servers tending to seated guests, and servers walking around with appetizers and champagne. 

Otherwise, it’s teeming with rich people. What Kenma told him about these dinners, about businessmen looking for playthings, Keiji feels it firsthand as eyes wander over his body just standing at the entrance. Men in suits and dresses, men who look like they own islands, all congregated in this building in downtown Tokyo where Akaashi Keiji most certainly doesn’t belong. 

“Please, enjoy yourself,” Kuroo says in Keiji’s ear. “Everything’s on me.” 

So that’s what Kenma meant when he said free food. 

Keiji nods, thanking him with a slight bow. But as he starts to follow Kuroo and Kenma into the dining area, Kuroo flashes him an index finger, asking him to wait with a smile. 

Kenma glances over his shoulder at Keiji sympathetically, but he’s pulled along with Kuroo. He mouths something, maybe “sorry.” 

It only takes a minute for Keiji to realize that when Kuroo said wait, he meant a while. The two of them start to make their rounds, Kuroo’s palm dangerously low on Kenma’s back as he shows off his university student boy-toy to greedy eyes. 

Keiji almost can’t believe how content Kenma looks. 

Scanning his surroundings once more, Keiji decides one drink should be plenty to fulfill his duties, and then he can grab a taxi back to the apartment. His duties being this favor for Kenma, because this is definitely a favor for Kenma who asked Keiji to come tonight after all. 

He orders a vodka cranberry. A man next to him offers to pay, but he declines. As he drinks, another man asks him where he’s from. Keiji stops the conversation before it goes further. Three different men offer to buy him another drink when his glass is almost empty. 

Keiji hurries towards the entrance, not bothering to find Kenma before he leaves. Kuroo will take care of him, Keiji’s at least sure of that. 

But it’s more crowded than it was just fifteen minutes ago, and Keiji struggles to avoid servers and guests, ending up against the wall with the front doors in sight. 

He almost bumps into a woman carrying wine when he feels a hand on his back. His body jolts at the touch. 

“Behind you, sorry!” 

Keiji recognizes the voice before he turns, before he sees that Bokuto behind him. Bokuto, with his hand pressed against Keiji’s lower back, and taller than Keiji thought. Broader than Keiji thought. 

Bokuto blinks at him. And then his face lights up. 

“Hold on, hold on, I recognize you! God, where was it… Recently, right?”

Keiji steps back, smoothing his shirt which doesn’t need smoothing. His back feels cold. 

“I’m Kenma’s roommate.” He says, without considering if it’s creepy that he immediately knows that. “We met the other night. Sort of.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” Bokuto laughs, running a hand through heavily gelled hair. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you right away.”

“It’s alright. It was much darker in the apartment than it is here. And I’m dressed appropriately this time.”

Bokuto laughs again. Really laughs, heartily like he’s laughing with his whole body. Keiji doesn’t think anyone has ever laughed like that at something he’s said. 

He tries to bite back a smile, but he can’t. 

“True! Gah, and now I can’t remember your name, either! A- something… Aka- Akashi?”

“Close. Akaashi Keiji.”

“Right! Akashi Keiji, got it.”

“Akaashi.” Keiji corrects him. 

Bokuto mouths the word, like he’s committing it to memory. Keiji blushes. 

“Well, I’ve never seen you at one of these events before, Akaashi-san. Are you here with Kenma?” Bokuto slips his hands into his pant pockets. 

Keiji wishes he didn’t do that, because then he notices what Bokuto’s wearing, and something about Bokuto in all black isn’t good for him. Black shoes, black slacks, black suit jacket, black button-up with a good portion of the top undone. Keiji thinks he saw a black diamond ring on his thumb, the same kind Kuroo was wearing. All black, and Bokuto is taller than Keiji thought. 

“Oh. Yes. This is my first time,” Keiji composes himself. “And yes, I’m here with Kenma. Kuroo-san invited me.” 

“Kuroo did?”

“Yes. I was surprised, too.”

“Huh.” Bokuto scratches the side of his neck, looking somewhere over Keiji’s head. “Well, tell me about yourself, Akaashi-san. You’re the same age as Kenma, right?” 

Keiji clasps his hands behind himself. “I am. We’re students at the same university.”

“Right, okay.”

“What about you, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto seems happy that Keiji asked. “I’m in the restaurant business. Have you ever heard of the Perch?”

“Oh, yes, isn’t that nearby?” 

Everyone knows the Perch. Keiji heard it’s the most expensive restaurant in Tokyo. 

“Yeah! I have one in Aomori, too.”

“You mean you own the Perch?”

“And a few other restaurants, but the Perch is the most popular. I’m the CEO of a company that manages them, too.” Bokuto swells. 

Keiji isn’t sure what to say, or what to think, other than Bokuto must be wealthier than Kuroo and that says much more than enough. He fights his curiosity to ask how many helicopters Bokuto owns. 

“Wow. That’s impressive.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Me? I doubt I could afford anything on the menu.” 

“Ah. I hope that wasn’t insensitive of me to ask.” 

“Not at all. If I wasn’t poor, I’m sure I would love it.” Keiji smiles. 

“I hope so.” Bokuto considers that for a moment. “Then why don’t-” 

He’s cut off by another server accidentally bumping into him. Bokuto stumbles forward a step into Keiji, who’s already too close to the wall to begin with. By the time Keiji realizes he’s pressed against the wall with Bokuto’s arm a centimeter from his face, with Bokuto’s chest close to his own, his breath is already gone. 

Keiji can see specks of hazel in Bokuto’s gold eyes, this close. 

Bokuto seems frozen. 

And then he steps back, swallowing and smiling. “Ah, someone bumped into me, sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.” 

They’re both silent, but neither of them move. 

“What were you saying?” Keiji asks. “You were saying something.”

“Yeah! Yes, yeah, I was.” Bokuto brings his hands together in front of him. “Well, actually…” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and picks out a small card. Keiji’s still too mesmerized by his hands to realize what he’s holding right away. Those hands. 

“Here,” Bokuto says.

He hands Keiji a business card. 

“Give me a call.” 

Bokuto suddenly notices someone, across the room at a table with other people who look like they own million dollar businesses, people beckoning him over. He smiles, waving and trying to mouth words but whispering them at the same time. 

“I need to run, but give me a call, okay?” 

Bokuto rests a hand on Keiji’s shoulder. Briefly. 

“Don’t lose my card.” 

And then he’s hurrying towards those strangers across the room, leaving Keiji near the wall, staring at a black business card with white text.

Keiji’s shoulder is cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the perch, get it? because owls perch-
> 
> just imagine bokuto in all black. god.
> 
> if u didn’t notice, i really like to write clothes 🥺💝 (speaking of, this is akaashi’s reference [shirt](https://www.yesstyle.com/en/tcuc.USD/coc.US/info.html/pid.1073877076?cpid=1073877146&googtrans=en&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=1425184459&utm_term=&utm_medium=Shopping&bac=EXUXNBGL&%243p=a_google_adwords&%24always_deeplink=false&gclid=Cj0KCQiAlsv_BRDtARIsAHMGVSYTx871f0T1dtfGtPt7F-0sLZ5jIMZOkrDryjz4uybJnkBEU9Vr7UIaAkxgEALw_wcB&gclid=Cj0KCQiAlsv_BRDtARIsAHMGVSYTx871f0T1dtfGtPt7F-0sLZ5jIMZOkrDryjz4uybJnkBEU9Vr7UIaAkxgEALw_wcB&~ad_set_id=61698091171&~campaign_id=1425184459&~channel=Google%20Ads&~keyword=&~placement=&~feature=Shopping&%24fallback_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yesstyle.com%2Fen%2Ftcuc.USD%2Fcoc.US%2Finfo.html%2Fpid.1073877076%3Fcpid%3D1073877146%26googtrans%3Den%26utm_source%3Dgoogle%26utm_campaign%3D1425184459%26utm_term%3D%26utm_medium%3DShopping%26bac%3DEXUXNBGL&_branch_match_id=863577290604138480##productAnchor) but imagine it’s the color of his eyes!) 
> 
> i hope you had an amazing new year :) this is a reminder that it doesn’t matter if you didn’t accomplish much in 2020, it’s okay if all you did was get by. but it’s okay if all you do is get by in 2021, too! i hope you’re doing well babe *hugs* ❤️


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// blood [from a papercut]

Keiji forgot how painful paper cuts are. It’s just a drop or two of blood on his index finger, but it gets on his textbook. Page 478. 

He didn’t realize he was holding the business card to begin with. It’s made out of something strange, paper but wealthy. It’s black, too, with white text. He hasn’t seen a black business card with white text before. And wealthy paper is sharp, apparently. It cut his finger.

He didn’t even realize he was holding it. 

Wasn’t he studying for tomorrow’s assessment?

Dabbing his textbook with a tissue, Keiji wraps another one around his fingertip and pulls a bandaid from his desk drawer. Paper cuts are frequent as a literature major. 

He slips Bokuto’s business card into the drawer, beside the bandaids. 

What time is it?

Keiji pulls his work uniform on, drops his books into his bag. As if he’ll have any downtime during his shift. 

In the kitchen, Kenma’s fiddling with a small box as Keiji heads out. Another round of gifts from Kuroo, he assumes. It’s a watch. Real gold, from the corner of Keiji’s eye. 

Would Bokuto…

“How did dinner go last night?” Kiyoko asks.

Keiji sets his things down, both of them a few minutes early for their shift. Another six hours of minimum wage and the chemical smell of liquid eyeliner. 

Keiji frowns. “How do you know about that?” 

“You bought that expensive ass shirt last shift,” Kiyoko and that small smile of hers. “You told me about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about that. I’m not getting enough sleep clearly.”

“It’s okay. You never do.”

“Dinner was fine.” Keiji unlocks one of the display cases, straightening a shelf. “I don’t know if the shirt was worth the money, but I like it.”

“It matches your eyes.”

“I think so, too. I still didn’t feel dressed appropriately enough, though. Too many rich people in one place.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to be friends with a few of them.”

He runs a finger over his bandaid. 

“You may be right.”

Keiji puts his pajamas on back at the apartment, exhausted. Six hours later, and he has a test tomorrow that he doesn’t feel prepared for. At some point in the night, his laptop screen is too bright. His eyes hurt, and he’s gone through his notes twice. 

At some point, he’s holding Bokuto’s business card in front of his screen.

_Don’t lose my card._

That’s probably the reason he hasn’t retained anything from studying, from his textbook, now or this morning. He can’t think about his test tomorrow when he’s thinking about the sentence Bokuto didn’t finish last night.

There was something between them, wasn’t there? Why else would Bokuto have given Keiji his card, a stranger at dinner. But that’s assuming Bokuto is interested in men, assuming Bokuto thinks Keiji is interested in men, assuming Bokuto gave Keiji his card because he wants to go on a date. 

Bokuto, at the same dinner as Kuroo and Kenma and the strangers who tried to buy Keiji a drink and probably wanted to buy other things for him, too. Keiji doesn’t know Bokuto’s motives. That’s an issue. 

He falls asleep later, with the business card stuck in the crevice of page 490. 

During his test the next day, Keiji can’t remember a definition, but he can remember the last four digits of Bokuto’s phone number. He goes to work after class with that business card in his pocket. The same pocket his phone is in. He doesn’t call Bokuto. 

Again.

Again.

Again, until it’s been four days since Bokuto put his hand on his back. Keiji wakes up on Friday morning with a headache. He’s used to that. 

He sits up in bed, runs fingers and a bandaid through his morning curls. Even without a mirror, he knows there are shadows beneath his eyes because his cheekbones feel tired, like his throat. He sets his glass of water in his lap. 

The business card is on his bedside table. A ring of water stains the corner. His glass must have been on top of it overnight. 

His phone is plugged in beside his pillow. 

Keiji stares at his bandaid. 

It’s exhilarating, the way his blood feels like hot static as he grabs his phone in one hand, shoves his water on the table with his other. It tilts a little, spills onto the carpet, but it’s not that much and Keiji just steadies the glass before picking up the business card. 

Wealthy paper feels like fire when Keiji’s anxious, he learns. So does his phone. So does the keypad, as he types careful numbers. 

It rings three times, enough for Keiji to hang up, but he doesn’t.

“Hello,” A woman answers. “May I ask who’s calling?” 

“I was looking for Bokuto-san.” Keiji rubs his hand on his thigh, quickly looking down at the card. “Bokuto Koutarou. He gave me his card.”

“What’s your name?”

“Akaashi Keiji.”

“Oh! Akaashi-san, of course, I’m so sorry!” The woman’s tone changes. It reminds him of the voice he uses when he’s talking to his manager. “Yes, Bokuto-san has been expecting your call.”

“Can I speak with him directly?”

“Unfortunately not. Bokuto-san… Well, Bokuto-san doesn’t like direct phone calls. I’m his receptionist.”

“Oh. Okay.” Keiji pulls on the hem of his shirt.

That isn’t ridiculously weird. Bokuto is a successful businessman, it makes sense that he has a personal receptionist. Maybe it’s not a common thing, but… 

“Bokuto-san actually has a message he wanted me to give you.” The woman sounds like she’s shifting some papers. “One sec… Here. He wants to know if you have any availability tomorrow evening.”

“Availability? What do you mean?”

“Bokuto-san wants to treat you to dinner at The Perch tomorrow. 8pm. I’ll schedule a car to come pick you up at 7:30 sharp.”

Keiji doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why this woman sounds like she’s telling him rather than asking. 

“I’m sorry, can I have some time to think about this?”

“I’m afraid I need your answer now, Akaashi-san. Bokuto-san is an incredibly busy man.” 

“I’m sure he is.”

Tomorrow at eight… This must be unhealthy, how fast his heart is beating. 

Keiji usually works Saturday, but his manager gave him the day off tomorrow. No pressing essays or upcoming tests. Dinner at The Perch. Bokuto’s treat.

Arms.

He swallows hard.

“Alright.”

“Wonderful. That’s a good choice, Akaashi-san, believe me.” 

Keiji can’t help but think that’s an odd thing to say. 

“You said there’s a car coming to get me?” Keiji moves past it. “I think that’s unnecessary. I can take the train.”

“Oh, no, Bokuto-san insisted that one of his drivers pick you up.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem for me.”

“I’m sure. Bokuto-san sends cars for people frequently.”

Keiji shifts the phone to his other ear. “Well, okay.”

“Alright then, Akaashi-san. Please be ready at 7:30 tomorrow. I hope you and Bokuto-san enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you.”

All of his adrenaline seems to evaporate with the end of the call. And when the adrenaline is gone, the panic sets in. 

Keiji sits on his bed for a few more minutes, or what feels like a few more minutes. He stares at his phone. He looks at the business card, partially covered by his sheets. It falls on the floor as he stands up. 

He paces. His phone in his right hand, in his left hand, in his right. 

Kenma pokes his head in the room. He’s still in his pajamas, fuzzy socks over scrunched toes, and his hair is frizzy from his pillowcase. 

“Keiji, what are you doing?” 

“I think…” Keiji stares at Kenma’s socks. “I think I have a date tomorrow.”

“With who?”

“Arms…”

Kenma doesn’t press him on it. That’s a good thing, because Keiji isn’t ready to tell his roommate that Kuroo’s friend is taking him to the most expensive restaurant in Tokyo. Kenma wouldn’t say it, but he would probably have “I told you so” behind his bangs. 

Bokuto didn’t say anything about sugar daddies or babies or sexual favors or gifts. Neither did his receptionist.

This is strictly a meal between two people who are theoretically attracted to each other. 

Kenma would probably disagree.

Keiji might disagree if he thinks too hard.

That’s a difficult thing, when he has an eight-hour shift today. Lying in bed, in the dark, trying to fall asleep. 

And then, somehow, it’s Saturday afternoon, and he has three hours to get ready. 

Kenma sits cross-legged on Keiji’s bed with his switch while Keiji stares in his closet. To the wall, it looks like Keiji’s staring in his closet, but Keiji is screaming inside, to his blood. 

He accidentally picks his bandaid off and gets another. 

“Want me to help?” Kenma asks. 

“I don’t know.”

“Let me help.” He puts down his switch. “God, you’re gay.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re freaking out about what to wear for a boy.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You are.”

Kenma stands beside him. He leans his head against Keiji’s arm, bright eyes darting through the closet for a moment. 

“Okay. Wear this.”

Keiji changes. 

They stare in the mirror together now. 

“Pretty.” Kenma says. 

It’s simpler than Keiji imagined. Black skinny jeans and a white turtleneck. Kenma helps him slip into a camel overcoat. 

“Thank you.” Keiji tells him.

He feels pretty enough that he smudges a hint of black eyeliner on his lower eyelids. 

And just like Bokuto’s receptionist said, there’s a black sudan in front of their apartment building at 7:29pm. 

Keiji feels slightly uncomfortable in the backseat. The car smells like new leather, and the driver smells like cologne. There’s wine and bottled water and soda in the fancy cupholders in the back, which Keiji ignores until they’re fifteen minutes into the silent drive and he takes a sip of water. 

The driver only speaks to Keiji once, as he climbs out of the car outside the restaurant. 

“I’ll be here to drive you home when you’re ready.”

A line of lively people stretches outside of The Perch, all the way up the street and even beyond a curve in the road from what Keiji can see. That’s not surprising given it’s a Saturday night. And all of them look like people who can afford a Saturday night at The Perch.

Keiji is not one of those people, and he feels just as out of place as he did at dinner earlier this week. 

“Akaashi Keiji?” 

A suited man calls his name, cuts through the crowd before Keiji has a chance to get used to his surroundings. 

“Yes?”

“Please follow me, Akaashi-san.”

He leads Keiji to the front doors, where a few employees exchange nods and let them both inside. Keiji feels guilty about the line he just cut. But at the same time, it’s thrilling, in a way. 

Inside is just as chaotic as outside, if not more. Dim lighting, the smell of cocktails as Keiji struggles to follow this man through an introvert’s nightmare. 

“Here,” He stops at a hightop near the bar, pulling out a chair for Keiji. 

It’s not exactly isolated from the bustle of the rest of the restaurant, but it’s marginally quieter. Keiji can hear himself think at the very least. Thoughts about the candles on the table, despite there being no candles on other tables that he can see, and a bottle of vintage white wine. 

Unlike other tables, there are also roses. 

“Bokuto-san will be with you shortly.” 

The man heads into the kitchen with a bow. 

Keiji sits. He hasn’t been inside The Perch before, although he’s heard of it. For such an expensive restaurant, it has a more casual vibe than he expected. Sure, everyone is well-dressed and seemingly drunk, but there are colored lights on the ceiling, lo-fi music behind voices. 

Keiji crosses his legs.

“Akaashi-san!”

Bokuto comes up behind him, claps his hands together with a smile that hurts Keiji’s eyes. 

Oh no.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait,” He plops into the seat across from Keiji. “I was doing some quality control.”

Oh, god, and he’s wearing a tight shirt.

Keiji tries desperately not to stare. Bokuto places his hands on the table in front of him. Just that movement alone sends a ripple through his muscles. It’s torture, really, but what’s worse are his _thighs._

Keiji clears his throat. “Quality control?”

“Yeah! Just some taste tests, checking in with everybody, that sort of thing. Restaurant business.”

How he didn’t notice those thighs before, Keiji can only assume he was blind. He pretends to look down at something on the floor, but risks a look up, beneath the table. Bokuto’s pants. Pants that shouldn’t be tight, bulging, straining against Bokuto’s thighs. And... 

“Ah.” Keiji quickly meets his eyes. “Of course.”

His reddened face isn’t noticeable in this lighting, is it? 

Bokuto leans back in his chair. 

God dammit.

“Well, I’m really glad you made it.” Bokuto says. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t call. You like to play hard to get, huh, Akaashi-san?”

Keiji’s blush must definitely be visible now. 

“Oh, no, nothing like that- I didn’t-” Keiji stumbles over his words, crosses his other leg again, taken aback by the question more than anything. “I’m sorry I-”

Bokuto bursts into laughter. Their table trembles.

“I’m just messing with you! Don’t sweat it. I don’t mind.” Bokuto grins at him. “Just glad you called. I didn’t care when. I’m just glad you did.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Keiji doesn’t remember how to form a grammatically correct sentence.

“So? What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“The restaurant! The Perch! You told me you haven’t been here before, so what do you think?” 

“Oh. Yes.” Keiji finds sanity in the small talk, takes a breath. “I think… I think it’s lovely. It’s really nice in here. I can see why it’s so popular.” 

“The food’s even better, trust me. Oh, have you tried any wine?”

“Not yet. It looks rather expensive.”

“Only the best for you, Akaashi-san,” Bokuto pops the bottle. “Don’t worry about money tonight, alright? It’s my treat. Get whatever your heart desires.”

“Perks of eating dinner with the owner.” Keiji says. “You’re generous, Bokuto-san.”

Without the restaurant lights, maybe Keiji would’ve seen his eyes brighten.

“Definitely a perk.” 

Bokuto fills Keiji’s glass a little more than halfway, and then his own.

“Cheers!”

Keiji bumps his glass against Bokuto’s, not sure what they’re saying cheers to but sure that Bokuto must always have a reason. They drink.

Bokuto waves down a waiter and orders an array of dishes Keiji can’t keep up with. He assures Keiji that they’re delicious, that he’ll love them. Keiji wonders how much this would cost if he were a normal customer. 

Thrilling. That’s the word. 

“Bokuto-san.” Keiji feels better with wine in his system. “Why did you give me your card?”

“I wanted you to have the Perch experience of course.”

“So you gave your number to a stranger you spoke to for five minutes. Because you wanted to take him out to dinner. Is that right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“I don’t know about you, but that sort of thing has implications. For me.” Keiji grips his glass. “I want to ask you, Bokuto-san. Is this a date?”

Bokuto watches Keiji, drags his finger along the rim of his drink. 

“Honestly, that’s what I was going for.” Bokuto says. “Yeah. If you’re okay with that, I want this to be a date.”

Keiji feels like glass.

“I’m okay with that.”

“But,” Bokuto sits up. “This is also… well, it’s also sort of something else, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Let’s just say that there’s a reason Kuroo invited you to dinner.” He looks off, past Keiji somewhere, and then down at the table. 

“Tell me what you’re trying to say, Bokuto-san.”

“What I’m trying to say, is that Kuroo and I are friends, and he’s always trying to get me to do stuff. He has Kenma. He and Kenma… You already know about their type of relationship, I’m sure.” Bokuto finally looks back at Keiji. “And when I was at your apartment the other night… When I was there with Kuroo, dropping Kenma off.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I remembered, too. I remembered seeing you. God, maybe I sound like a creep, but I told Kuroo about you. He did the rest.”

Behind Keiji’s burning cheeks, his mind makes sense of what Bokuto is saying. 

“You’re saying that Kuroo-san invited me to dinner, because you were interested in me?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

“I’m also interested in helping you out.” Bokuto props himself with his elbows on the table. It might be Keiji’s imagination, but his voice is lower than it was a moment before. “How old are you, Akaashi-san?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“What kind of job do you have?”

Keiji has a feeling. Where this is going. He should be more cautious with his answers, but he isn’t.

“I work part-time at the mall.”

“Twenty-one-year-old university student working part-time at the mall, sharing a small apartment with a roommate. Is that right?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“I want to help you out, Akaashi-san.” Bokuto says. “I’m well off, as you can see. I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me help you.”

Keiji has to ask the blaring question. 

His heart might erupt out of his chest, and his legs are squeezed tightly together in his seat. Bokuto looking at him like that, eyebrows raised in the dark. 

Keiji feels like velvet.

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Don’t put it that way, Akaashi.” Bokuto drops the honorific, smiling. “I want to spoil you. In return, let me spoil myself.”

“Spoil yourself…”

“You’re beautiful.” Bokuto murmurs. “You’re the most beautiful boy I think I’ve ever seen. Like a doll.” He cocks his head, just a bit. “If you were for sale, I would buy you in a heartbeat.”

Keiji twists his fingers in his lap. 

“I’m not for sale.”

“You sure about that?”

“How much-” Keiji falters, but somehow he musters the strength to get the words off his stinging tongue. “How much are you offering?”

“All the money in the world.”

“My tuition?”

“All of it. Your tuition, your rent, your meals, your clothes, spending money on the side.”

“And… All of this for you to spoil yourself?”

“That’s it.” Bokuto says. “All of this, and all I’m asking for is one night a week.”

“One night a week.”

“One night a week for me to do whatever I want with you.”

Keiji’s breath catches in the bottom of his throat. 

“That’s a lot to think about,” he finally says. 

“I’m sure it is.”

That’s a lot to think about. More to think about than Keiji has space in his brain, sanity in his quivering hands. It’s too much, but he doesn’t think Bokuto cares if it’s too much. His tuition doesn’t care if it’s too much. 

Their food comes, and all Keiji can do is stare at the steam rising from the plates.

“I’m inexperienced, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto shakes his head. “Me, too. I haven’t done anything like this before, either.”

”No. That’s not what I mean.” Keiji can’t believe what he’s saying. “I’m inexperienced sexually. I’m a virgin.” 

Bokuto’s about to take another sip of wine, but he stops. He clears his throat, rather aggressively, and Keiji notices him shift his legs. Bokuto sets his glass down, shakes his head again as he leans forward. 

“Believe me. That’s not a problem.”

“And you still want to do this?”

“Knowing that? Even more.”

Keiji’s always had a glorified vision of what losing his virginity would be like. Moonlight and flower petals and tender kisses. A boy he loves. 

Bokuto doesn’t remind Keiji of flower petals. He doesn’t know if his lips are soft, or if the moonlight is visible from Bokuto’s bedroom window. 

He doesn’t know, but his tuition doesn’t care about his virginity. 

Keiji sits up in his chair. 

The wine in his glass ripples. 

“I want a contract. We’ll both sign it. If I agree with the conditions, then we have a deal.”

Bokuto’s smile returns. 

“Done.”

Keiji eats, but he can’t remember what any of the food tastes like as soon as he swallows. They have a few more glasses of wine. The small talk feels forced after the agreement just made, to Keiji. 

But he learns about Bokuto. He already knew Bokuto owns two restaurants and a few other corporate chains, but he didn’t know that Bokuto is thirty-four. Bokuto owns property in six countries. Bokuto hates white chocolate. Bokuto loves dogs. 

No surprise there. 

The car is waiting outside as Bokuto walks Keiji out. He opens the door for him, and his hand finds Keiji’s lower back as Keiji slides into the backseat. Warm, just above Keiji’s ass. 

“Drive safe. There’s precious cargo back here.” Bokuto says to the driver. 

He leans through Keiji’s window.

“Check your mailbox Monday. I’ll have a contract sent to you.”

Keiji nods.

The car pulls away from the curb. Bokuto waves, slips a hand into his pocket. 

On the way home, Keiji stares out the window. He breathes in time with the hum of the engine. 

His entire life might have just changed, but outside, they pass the same trees Keiji sees on his way to work. 

Keiji drops into his bed as soon as he’s home, hugging a pillow to his chest. Kenma’s gaming in his bedroom, and Keiji’s phone is on three percent, and it’s around midnight. He has work tomorrow. 

Sleeping isn’t an option, so he thinks about Bokuto’s thighs. 

Keiji doesn’t need a sugar daddy. 

Keiji doesn’t want a sugar daddy. 

But Bokuto… 

But those thighs…

In the morning, Kenma points to a package on the counter as Keiji comes into the kitchen.

A bouquet of roses and a necklace, gleaming with a real emerald at it’s base. 

There’s a note at the bottom, written on wealthy paper. 

_\- Like a doll_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loosely based off the fact that my girlfriend said i looked like a doll last week 🥺💞
> 
> [akaashi's inspo (different colors ofc!!)](https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/357895501642159398/)
> 
> this chapter is longer than usual! i'm trying to keep my word counts down per update in order to update more frequently n also experiment with a new writing style.
> 
> if you haven't eaten yet today, this is your reminder to do so!!!!!!!!!! have some water, too  
> mwah i love you 🥺❤️❤️


	4. Chapter 4

_This contract is provided as an agreement which defines the relationship between both individuals, hereinafter referred to as Bokuto Koutarou, hereinafter referred to as Akaashi Keiji. This agreement is being entered consensually, but cannot be broken except under the conditions stated herein._

_A. The Rights, Duties, and Responsibilities of Bokuto Koutarou:_

_I. Complete and total financial support for Akaashi Keiji. Including but not limited to tuition, living expenses (rent, food, clothing), non-essential living expenses (luxuries, recreation), as well as a weekly allowance of 10,000 yen._

_II. Right to choose the clothes and accessories which Akaashi Keiji wears during dedicated time._

_III. Within a reasonable degree, must consider and care for the emotional and physical well-being of Akaashi Keiji._

  
_B. The Rights, Duties, and Responsibilities of Akaashi Keiji:_

_I. Akaashi Keiji agrees to set aside one day per week (24 hours) for dedicated time with Bokuto Koutarou, during which time Akaashi Keiji agrees to be at the full disposal of Bokuto Koutarou physically, emotionally, and presently._

_II. Has the right to feel comfortable voicing any agreement or discontent towards proposals from Bokuto Koutarou._

_III. Must accept any and all gifts from Bokuto Koutarou, including but not limited to clothing, jewelry, makeup, financial compensation, etc._

_IV. Unless there is reasonable cause, Akaashi Keiji may NOT refuse Bokuto Koutarou in any capacity._

“What’s that?” Kenma asks, stalking into the kitchen for another bowl of cereal.

Keiji holds the papers with both hands. 

“Nothing.”

He crumples the edges. 

“Schoolwork.”

Kenma doesn’t ask him anything else as Keiji hurries back to his bedroom. He shuts the door, lightly, and his head feels like a TV screen until he’s sitting at his desk. Papers, in his hands, wrinkled on the edges. 

When he said he wanted a contract… This is a contract, but…

Keiji doesn’t know what he was thinking. 

He reads through the rest of the packet, eight pages in all. At the end, there’s a place for his signature. 

Bokuto already signed it. 

His signature is swooping ink, loops that look like Bokuto Koutarou and all of his money. 

Keiji always checks their mail, so Kenma didn’t see the big yellow envelope addressed to Akaashi Keiji this morning, didn’t see as Keiji opened it with a breath, with his fingers rather than a letter opener. 

Keiji did say he wanted a contract. But it’s different, saying that was different than holding this cream paper that says he agrees to be at the full disposal of Bokuto Koutarou. 

The language is vague, but Keiji sees past it. 

Full disposal means sex. He already knew that. 

He sees past all of it. 

For one day a week, he belongs to Bokuto. For every expense he can think of, he belongs to Bokuto, and why that feels so terribly, horribly _thrilling_ , he can’t begin to understand. That word again. Thrilling. 

But Keiji refuses to pick up a pen, not until he can think without black and grey and white clouds in his head. He slips his glasses on, sits straight in his chair as he reads through the contract. 

He reads it four times. Five times if he includes looking it over in the kitchen. 

The third time, his nails dig into the paper in defiance. He doesn’t know what he’s angry about, or if he’s more upset with himself or Bokuto. Probably both of them. Himself, for how his heart beats when he reads the words “total financial support.” Bokuto, for being so damn hot and rich and interested in Keiji of all people. 

But behind the thrill, there’s anxiety. There’s always anxiety with Keiji. 

The contract says he’s allowed to say no, but the contract also says Bokuto doesn’t have to listen. Keiji doesn’t know if Bokuto is the kind of person to listen yet. 

If Keiji’s thinking rationally, this is a good deal despite the risk. One day of risk for free tuition, rent, anything that has a price tag. And the contract says Bokuto has to at least _consider_ Keiji’s well-being, but that’s vague, too. 

There’s only one thing Keiji decides he can argue against. 

He picks up his phone. 

“Hello,” A familiar woman answers. “Please state your name and reason for calling.” 

“Akaashi Keiji,” he says firmly. “Please tell Bokuto-san I’ve read the contract. I’ll be at the café beside my apartment at 5 o’clock tonight. I expect him to be there to discuss.”

Before the woman can respond, he hangs up. 

He takes a cold shower to stop himself from feeling guilty about that. 

At 4:45pm, Keiji takes a seat at the table he uses when he’s studying some mornings. He orders an espresso, knowing full well that it’ll keep him up tonight. He swallows, and then he orders another. 

The bell above the door jingles at 5:09pm. 

Keiji waits for Bokuto to find him in the back. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto grins, sitting down in the chair across from him. “I have to say, you have some spunk talking to my receptionist like that. She had some choice words for me.”

“I said what I needed to.” 

“I’m going to be late for a meeting because of this.”

“That’s not my problem.”

Keiji doesn’t know where that came from, but his cheeks turn red after the words disappear. Bokuto raises his eyebrows. He shakes his head a little. 

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“I just meant-” Keiji clears his throat. “If you’re serious about this, then being late for a meeting because of me shouldn’t be a big deal. That’s all.”

“I know what you mean, Akaashi.”

Keiji straightens the papers.

“How are you?” 

Bokuto laughs at that, for some reason. “I’m good! I’m better now that I’m looking at you.”

“Is that so.”

“Absolutely.” Bokuto leans back, getting comfortable. “How about you? What is it we urgently needed to talk about?” 

Keiji doesn’t let his eyes wander to Bokuto’s thighs this time. 

“We need to talk about the contract.”

“You like it? I had a lawyer friend work on it with me. I wanted to be thorough.”

“It is thorough.” Keiji holds the papers tightly to give himself something to grip. “That’s not the issue.” 

“Then what’s the issue?”

“Aside from the ambiguous nature of most everything in it,” Keiji says, “I don’t like section A, clause two.” He points to it, showing Bokuto. “I want to choose what I wear.”

“That one is non-negotiable.” Bokuto crosses thick arms, still mouth-watering even in the sweater he’s wearing. “I already have some things picked out for you. Besides, I think that’s the least you can do for me since I’m covering all of your expenses.”

Keiji bites his tongue. “I think being at your full disposal is more than enough for covering all of my expenses. I won’t say anything about the other things, but I choose what I wear.”

“Why?” Bokuto asks, genuine. 

Keiji takes a breath, but the words fail him. 

He doesn’t know how Bokuto would respond to Keiji explaining that it’s about control. Keiji needs control. Or if he doesn’t have it, he needs to pretend like he does. If the clothes on his body are the one thing he can control, then so be it. 

“The reason doesn’t matter.” Keiji says. 

Bokuto thinks for a moment, staring at the black of Keiji’s espresso. 

“Then how about a compromise?”

“What kind of compromise?” 

“Every other week. You can choose what to wear every other week, but the rest of the time, you have to wear what I give you. Deal?” 

Given the circumstances, Keiji doesn’t think that’s much of a compromise, but he has to remember his position in all of this. He looks down at the contract. His fingernail traces the word “tuition.” 

“Fine.” Keiji says. “Every other week.”

Bokuto smiles. “I can work with that.” 

“But, that’s not the only issue. I want to talk about something else.”

“Please, go ahead.”

Bokuto sounds genuine again. This would probably be easier if Bokuto acted like an older man preying on a university student. It would be easier if it didn’t seem like he gently took each of Keiji’s words into his ears. Genuine, in his eyes, like that. 

“This isn’t specifically outlined in the contract,” Keiji shifts in his seat. “But there isn’t anything about… Getting to know each other.” His face must be red again. “And I don’t mean just spending time together doing whatever it is you want us to do.” A pretty way to say sex, Keiji thinks. “I mean really getting to know each other. In a meaningful way. If that’s okay with you.” 

Bokuto is quiet for a moment.

He leans forward, near the edge of his seat across the table. 

“I don’t think that contract does a good job of explaining who I am.” Bokuto says. His hands fall clasped between his knees. “I _want_ to get to know you, Akaashi. That’s why I wanted to do all of this in the first place. Okay? I’m not the sex-crazy pervert you must think I am,” he gestures to the contract, smiling. “I might be materialistic, sure, but I don’t just like to look at my things. I like to know everything about them.” 

Keiji hopes these aren’t butterflies.

He can’t afford butterflies, not with a sugar daddy. Not with Bokuto. 

“Tell you what,” Bokuto goes on. “If you ever want to see me during any of the other six days in the week, we can do whatever you want. No pressure of course, but I wouldn’t mind missing any meetings for you.”

“Really?” 

“Really.”

For the moment, all Keiji can manage is a small nod. His eyes focus on a rip in his jeans. 

“We can start right now, if you want.” 

Keiji looks up. “Now?”

“I mean the getting to know each other part.” Bokuto laughs out loud. “We didn’t talk much last time, and it was mainly about me, anyway.” 

“Oh.”

“So you’re twenty-one, you’re studying literature at university, and your roommate is Kozume Kenma. Tell me more.” 

“But what about the contract? I haven’t signed it, and I’m not done-”

“Don’t worry about the contract. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Your meeting-”

“Fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes. Keiji pokes the bottom of his espresso cup. 

“Okay.”

“Have you ever dated anyone before?” Bokuto starts.

Keiji regrets fifteen minutes.

“No. I haven’t.” He blushes more. 

“What’s your sexual orientation?”

“I’m gay. I realized that when I was twelve or thirteen, I think. Yourself?”

“I haven’t put too much thought into it, but I assume I’m bisexual or pansexual. I don’t think about gender. I just think about who makes me feel something. But so far, it’s mostly been men.”

“I see.”

And then Bokuto asks, “What’s your favorite thing about me?”

Bokuto watches Keiji intently, like he genuinely wants to know. Keiji doesn’t think anyone has ever asked him that. Not the way Bokuto is asking him. 

_Muscles._

“I don’t think I know you well enough to answer that yet.” Keiji says. 

Bokuto nods.

“Do you…” Keiji assumes he should ask the same thing. Shouldn’t he? “Do you have a favorite thing about me?”

“I don’t know you well enough to choose one.”

Keiji wasn’t expecting that. So much so that his eyes widen, and Bokuto seems to like how his eyes widen because he laughs under his breath.

“Is there anything else on the contract you want to talk about, Akaashi?” 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Bokuto pulls something out of his back pocket.

“If you would please.”

He hands Keiji a pen.

It’s heavy.

Keiji flips to the last page of the contract, where there’s that black line for his signature.

He wasn’t expecting the ink to be dark red. 

_Akaashi Keiji._

Bokuto claps his hands against his legs, and Keiji flinches. 

“I’ll see you on Friday then.” Bokuto says, sliding the contract to his side of the table. “If that’s alright with you.”

Keiji shakes his head, blurry with red ink. 

“I have work.”

“I can assure you that you don’t need a job anymore.” 

“I won’t be quitting my job.” Keiji is firm about that. “There wasn’t anything in the contract about quitting my job, and I don’t plan on it.”

Bokuto turns the black ring on his thumb a few times, looking up at Keiji. 

“Alright. That’s fine. I can’t see why you would want that, but I don’t have a problem with it. As long as you have 24 hours a week for me.” 

“I have Mondays off. You can have me on Mondays.”

“Monday then.” Bokuto says. “I’ll have you a week from today.”

“Can I…” Keiji plays with his fingers under the table. “Can I choose what I wear that day?”

“Sure you can.” Bokuto smiles at him. Genuine, again. 

Bokuto walks Keiji home after that. He has the contract tucked under his arm, holding the door for Keiji, waving as Keiji looks over his shoulder in the apartment lobby. 

Keiji pulls his keys out in front of their door. 

There’s red ink on his finger that he didn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me and my sister looking up bdsm slave contract templates to write the contract 💔💔
> 
> this fic is so fun to write !! (* ^ ω ^)  
> i am simply projecting onto akaashi🥺🥰 my thirst for bokuto’s muscles is really showing, isn’t it?
> 
> [this time, it's bokuto's inspo! (insert bulging arms)](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/156711262018993356/)
> 
> update soooooon :) i love you so much sweetheart <33


	5. Chapter 5

Kenma is asleep. 

He’s still wearing the clothes he wore out last night, and his switch rises and falls with his breathing on his stomach. The lipstick Keiji applied is faded, staining his chin. From sleeping, or from Kuroo. 

Another benefit of Mondays. Kenma sleeps in. 

Keiji watches him for a moment more, and then slips his door shut softly. 

As long as Kenma’s asleep, he won’t see Keiji like this. Dressed up at ten o’clock on Monday morning, with mascara and blush and a turtleneck sweater he hasn’t worn in a while. It’s cream, and he’s wearing black dress pants that hug his thighs. He hopes that he looks rich. Or at least rich enough to sit beside Bokuto. 

Keiji isn’t ready for Kenma to find out yet. 

He’s unnecessarily quiet, as he double checks that he has everything he needs for the next twenty-four hours in his bag. There’s a note for Kenma on the counter explaining that he had to cover someone today at work.  _ It’s an emergency.  _

There’s a text already drafted in his phone for tonight.  _ Kenma, I’m going out to have a drink with Kiyoko.  _ Even though Keiji would never go out to have a drink with anyone on a weeknight, and that won’t easily explain why he isn’t home until tomorrow morning. 

He can only hope Kenma didn’t see the flowers before Keiji took them out to the dumpster, or the diamond bracelet Bokuto had delivered a few days ago. It has real rubies. 

This would be easier if Kenma didn’t pay attention. If his eyes didn’t look at Keiji like that. 

Keiji waits by the door. His finger hovers above the buzzer. 

He only looks away for a moment, up at the mirror beside the door to check his contacts. He isn’t used to wearing contacts. Of course that’s when the buzzer rings. 

Keiji’s whole body flinches. He slams the button. 

The ringing stops. 

Moderately panicked, Keiji looks back to make sure Kenma hasn’t woken up. His door is still shut. Keiji breathes through his mouth. He can’t hear any sounds from Kenma’s bedroom. 

Keiji exhales. He looks back in the mirror, at the anxiety draining away from his cheeks and his contacts, which look fine. As quickly as he can, he leaves and takes care to close the door behind him and lock it. He pauses again.

The hall is quiet. 

He skips the elevator, heading straight for the stairwell with his bag clutched to his side. 

People stare on the sidewalk. Not at Keiji, but at Bokuto. 

He’s kicking pebbles in front of Keiji’s apartment, hands in his pockets and lips pursed like he’s humming. But people aren’t staring at him more than they are the black car behind him. It stands out expensively in Keiji’s neighborhood. 

Bokuto himself should stand out, too. He would usually stand out, when he’s wearing thousand dollar shirts and shoes that shine more than the moon. But Keiji almost doesn’t recognize him because Bokuto is-

“Oh, Akaashi!”

Bokuto’s wearing jeans. 

“There you are!”

Bokuto’s wearing jeans and short sleeves, and Keiji feels lead in his stomach for multiple reasons. One of those being people don’t typically wear jeans to expensive dinner parties, like Keiji assumed they would be going. And another being Bokuto’s arms are bad enough with sleeves. 

Now, there’s nothing protecting the world from Bokuto’s exposed arm muscles and what that does to Keiji. 

“Ready to go?” 

Keiji finds himself scanning the street around them to make sure he doesn’t recognize anyone. Not that he knows many people to begin with. 

Bokuto follows his gaze, grinning. 

“Yes.” Keiji says.

“Got everything you need?”

“I do.”

“Alright! Good.” Bokuto slips his hands out of his pockets. “After you then.” 

He opens the rear car door. 

Keiji slides into the backseat quickly. The tinted windows ease his anxiety. It should be the other way around. 

Bokuto gets in after him with a happy noise, shutting the door loudly. He leans forward to knock on the barrier between the front seat and the backseat. After a moment, it rolls down. 

“You two should get to know each other, Akinori!” Bokuto gestures from the driver to Keiji. “Akinori, this is Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi, this is Konoha Akinori. He’s my main driver. And sort of like my assistant.”

Konoha gives Keiji a thin-lipped smile from the front seat. 

“Something like that,” he says. 

Keiji nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“Well,” Konoha looks in the rearview mirror as he pulls away from the curb. “I feel like I already know you, Akaashi-san.”

“What do you mean by that?” Keiji swallows. 

“You’re all Bokuto-san wants to talk about these days.”

The divide between them rolls back up into place. 

Keiji glances at Bokuto, flushed and heart racing, and fascinated by how Bokuto looks as embarrassed as Keiji feels. Bokuto catches him looking. He smiles, clears his throat, wiping his hands on his pants. 

Twenty-four hours begins now. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Bokuto says. “He’s a wise ass.”

Keiji doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He looks down, runs a finger over his bracelet.

“You’re wearing it.” Bokuto murmurs. 

Keiji inhales sharply because then Bokuto is beside him. Right beside him, admiring the gemstones against Keiji’s skin. His face is close, his whole body is close. His cologne slaps Keiji twice in the face. 

Warmth from Bokuto’s body brushes the peach fuzz on Keiji’s cheek. 

This close, Keiji can see everything. 

It’s only a second or two, but this close, Keiji can see where Bokuto shaved this morning. He can see how smooth Bokuto’s jaw is. Individual strands of black and white and gray hair gelled above his forehead. Of his eyebrows. 

Keiji feels static electricity where Bokuto touches his wrist. He jolts, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice. 

Bokuto pulls his wrist up, until the bracelet glimmers in what sunlight comes through the window. The diamonds stand out against Keiji’s skin. The rubies twinkle, more than anything. 

“You’re wearing it.” He repeats. 

Keiji looks away, quickly, as Bokuto looks back at him. 

“It’s the polite thing to do.” Keiji reddens.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s too expensive.”

“There’s no such thing as that.”

“Maybe for you.”

“But you like it?” Bokuto urges him, eager. Like a puppy. “It looks perfect on you.”

Keiji stares at one of the rubies. 

“It’s too beautiful for me.”

Bokuto brings a finger beneath Keiji’s chin, turning him with unexpected force to stare at those gold eyes of his. Shivers expand from that place on Keiji’s chin, that place on his wrist. 

“You’re too beautiful for  _ it.”  _ Bokuto says. 

Keiji is frozen. 

They stay, staring at each other, wondering at one another, for Keiji doesn’t know how long. Bokuto drops his finger from Keiji’s chin at some point. Keiji realizes he hadn’t been breathing. 

“You look gorgeous today, Akaashi.” 

Keiji has to work to find the words. 

“...Thank you.” 

His cheeks are too hot. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t dress you up every other week after all.”

“I agree.”

Bokuto laughs. “You’re too fucking cute, you know that?”

Keiji feels a pang of something. Like he wants to smile. 

“Cuter every time I see you.” 

Bokuto traces Keiji’s veins below the bracelet. Keiji… Keiji doesn’t know what to do with himself, and the strange pleasure that comes from the feeling. But Bokuto drops this hand, too, after a moment. 

Keiji isn’t stupid. As hard as Bokuto tried to be inconspicuous about it, Keiji can feel Bokuto’s hand now resting on his thigh like fire. 

The contract comes to mind.  _ Unless there is reasonable cause, Akaashi Keiji may NOT refuse Bokuto Koutarou in any capacity.  _

It occurs to him, though, that he doesn’t want to refuse Bokuto’s hand on his thigh. 

“You haven’t asked where we’re going.” Bokuto says. 

“I don’t think you would tell me if I asked.” Keiji keeps his eyes forward. “But wherever it is, I’m worried I’m overdressed.”

“What? Why?” 

“You’re dressed casually today, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto looks down at himself, as if he forgot what he’s wearing. 

“Really?”

“I haven’t seen you in jeans before.”

Bokuto grins. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, breath tickling Keiji’s ear. “You can never be overdressed. Not for me.”

He rubs his hand up Keiji’s thigh. 

But after those words wear off, Keiji is sure there are exceptions because he recognizes the building as soon as they pull up beside it. 

He is definitely overdressed. 

“Bokuto-san…”

“Have you been to the aquarium before, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks excitedly. The outside of the building is pretty, but Bokuto stares with his nose almost pressed to the window like it’s breathtaking. 

His hand is still on Keiji’s thigh. In his excitement, he squeezes him, and Keiji gasps. 

“Why- Yes, I have, but why are we here?” 

“I wanted to take you.” Bokuto says. 

He replies so simply, firmly, that Keiji has to take that as an answer. 

Konoha parks the car. 

“Wait-” Keiji starts, but Bokuto is pulling him out of the backseat before he can steady himself. “Bokuto-san-”

Bokuto wraps an arm around Keiji’s waist on the sidewalk. It’s ice water down his back, and his posture straightens reflexively. Smiling, Bokuto does seem to notice this time. 

“When’s the last time you’ve been here?” He asks.

Keiji squints in the sun. “I don’t know. Maybe five years ago.” 

“Really? That long?” Bokuto’s eyebrows rise to his forehead. “Then it’s a good thing I’m taking you!”

There’s a line out the door. All sorts of people, elderly and married and families and kids on school trips. Lots of kids on school trips, by the looks of it, but Bokuto leads him to the front of the line. 

The ticket man seems to recognize Bokuto. He lets them both inside, cutting the line completely. They bypass tickets and security and whatever protocol everyone else has to follow. A woman hands them both a pamphlet, and then they’re inside, free to wander. 

“Why did they let us cut?” Keiji asks quietly. 

“Oh, I know the guy who owns the place.” Bokuto says, waving his hand. “He owes me some favors.”

Keiji shouldn’t be surprised. 

The only thing that’s surprising is this tingling sensation in his chest. He glances back at the line of people they just cut. Bokuto hefts his arm around him again, around his lower waist, just above the curve of his ass. 

They pass the gift shop nestled into the corner as they make their way into the aquarium. Keiji feels that tingling again, knowing that Bokuto could afford to buy everything in the gift shop, ten times. Knowing he could ask Bokuto to buy something for him, and Bokuto would. 

This tingling. Keiji finds himself leaning back into Bokuto’s arm, as foreign as this is to him. 

“What do you want to see first?” Bokuto asks. He’s still smiling, looking at Keiji with that expression that reminds him of a dog, again. 

“Let’s just follow the path for now,” Keiji flips through his pamphlet. “But if you must know, I like sea turtles.”

“Me too!”

“That’s not surprising,” Keiji murmurs, to himself more than Bokuto, because he’s already leading Keiji towards shadows of blue. 

Over the next hour, Keiji learns about a different side of Bokuto. Not the side of him that runs multi-million dollar businesses, or that offers to pay a university student’s tuition for sex, but a side of him that seems to have the same attention span as the fish in the aquarium. 

“Akaashi, do you see that one? Look, its scales are the same color as your eyes!” 

“Yes, I see it, Bokuto-san.”

Keiji can’t tell what to call this side of him. It’s not vulnerable persay, or necessarily childish, not with those muscles on him. 

“Look, it’s Nemo!”

“Nemo isn’t real, Bokuto-san.” 

Maybe it’s a rich person thing. Something about unlimited wealth that preserves the ability to find excitement in everything. That’s probably easy, for someone who doesn’t have to worry about how to pay his bills next month. 

“I bet I would survive if I got stung by a stingray.”

“Stingrays attacks are rarely fatal, so I’m sure you would, Bokuto-san.”

Or more likely, it’s a Bokuto thing. 

Keiji stands back as Bokuto presses himself against one glass tank, fascinated by an unmoving snail on a piece of coral. He’s joined by a group of children as one of the field trips makes their way down the corridor. The teachers hang back near Keiji, smiling at the students. That’s when Keiji notices himself smiling, too. 

Bokuto makes a joke to a boy next to him. They both burst into laughter. Another student points at something in the tank and Bokuto must say something else funny, because then all of the children are laughing. 

The noise only halts for a moment when a staff member tells Bokuto to take his hands off the glass. But after he apologies, profusely, Keiji notices, they’re all laughing again. 

It’s hard not to smile. It’s harder not to laugh along with Bokuto, even if Keiji doesn’t know what he said. He doesn’t need to know. 

“Do you think I could fight off a shark?” Bokuto asks as they continue along the hallway. 

“It depends.” Keiji says. He’s acutely aware that Bokuto’s hands are placed elsewhere than around his waist. “What kind of shark?”

“That one!” 

Bokuto points at a tiger shark swimming around the bend. Keiji chews his lower lip, pulling out his pamphlet. 

“This says they’re usually around four meters long and 500 kilograms.” He reads. “Seeing as you’re about two meters and… maybe 90 kilograms, if I had to guess...”

“87.4 kilograms,” Bokuto corrects him. 

“87.4 kilograms, then it’s unlikely you would be able to beat the tiger shark.” 

“Aw, Akaashi,” Bokuto pouts, stopping beside the tank. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s more than twice your size.” Keiji stops with him. 

He waits for Bokuto to argue or complain or laugh, maybe, but Bokuto just looks back up at the shark. Keiji watches him intently, apathetic at first. But the longer Bokuto’s silence lasts, the more upset he seems, and the more worried Keiji grows. 

Upsetting his sugar daddy on their first day out together is the last thing he needs.

“But that’s not taking skill into account, of course,” Keiji says quickly. 

Bokuto perks up somewhat. “It’s not?”

“Not at all. Based on sheer size, the shark is superior, but taking into account your fighting ability, stamina, experience, and strategy, then I’m sure you would win, Bokuto-san.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Bokuto’s smile returns to him, as he seems to have a staring contest with the shark. Keiji thinks he’ll remember this smile. It makes him happy. Not happy enough to smile, but the distinct sort of feeling that reminds him of the word, happy. 

There’s a noise on the glass behind Keiji. He turns to see a child tapping their knuckle towards a seahorse. He looks back at Bokuto, but Bokuto is gone. 

“Bokuto-san?” Keiji calls out in alarm. 

He looks down both ends of the corridor, but there are only more children and parents and other adults he doesn’t recognize. Another swell of people start to file into this section of the aquarium. He doesn’t see Bokuto anywhere. 

“Bokuto-san?” 

Careful not to bump into anyone, Keiji starts down the rest of the corridor they haven’t been to yet. He couldn’t have gotten far, in the few seconds Keiji was looking away, could he? Is this on purpose? Did he get tired of Keiji and leave? It’s only their first day, and they barely know each other yet, and he was the one who approached Keiji first, but-

Keiji swells with relief as he sees Bokuto’s broad back. Like a parent finding their child at the grocery store. 

He’s standing in a nook different from the rest of the aquarium in how it’s circular, with dark lighting and an arch that gives it some semblance of privacy. It’s a small space, all things considered. 

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji breathes, joining him in the nook. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto whips around. His eyes look brighter surrounded by water. “Sorry I took off, but look!”

He points at a sea turtle. 

“I saw it from the corner of my eye and went to catch up with it. I wanted to show you.”

It must be Keiji’s imagination, but the sea turtle looks like it's staring at him. Keiji stares back. 

“You wanted to show me?” Keiji repeats.

“You said you like sea turtles.”

Keiji did say that. He just never expected Bokuto to remember. Or care. 

“I do like them.” Keiji says. “Very much.”

Eventually, the sea turtle swims to another part of the tank. The two of them stay there. 

Keiji notices how close they are, now that he’s calmed down. Bokuto barely fits beside him in the nook. His arms brush Keiji’s sleeves with every small movement. Like when his hand finds Keiji’s waist again. 

Bokuto’s fingers gently squeeze his side. Keiji can’t help how his breath quickens. His hands slide up Keiji’s arm, to his neck, where warm fingers brush over the goosebumps prickling along his curls. 

“So pretty,” Bokuto murmurs. 

Keiji focuses on the shadows bouncing off the glass tank, but he can feel Bokuto staring at him. 

Bokuto touches the soft skin behind his earlobe. The edge of his ring brushes Keiji’s neck, and it’s cold. It’s strangely tempting for Keiji to tilt his neck back into the touch. He doesn’t. 

Instead, he tries to keep himself from trembling by tugging on his index finger, hyper-fixating on a fish that swims by. Bokuto threads his fingers up through Keiji’s curls, just once, before sliding his hand back down his spine. 

He leaves it to rest on the small of Keiji’s back. Then he gently pulls Keiji towards the exit. 

“That’s good,” he says into Keiji’s ear. “You’re already being so good.”

Keiji’s body doesn’t stop shivering even when they get into the backseat of the car. 

“How was it?” Konoha asks. 

“Great!” Bokuto replies. “What did you think, Akaashi?”

While fighting off a coiling warmth in the pit of his stomach, Keiji can only nod. 

Konoha pulls onto the road. “Where to next, Bokuto-san?”

“Are you hungry, Akaashi?” Bokuto leans in to ask him. “What are you feeling?” 

“I’m… I could go for some food.” Keiji says. 

“Okay, good because I’m starving.” Bokuto falls back into his seat, but his hand remains on Keiji’s thigh. Just like before. Keiji hopes he doesn’t move away. “How about yakitori?” 

“Street food?” Keiji asks. 

Bokuto blinks at him. “Do you not want that?” 

“No, no, it’s just- You don’t strike me as the type of person to eat street food.” 

Bokuto’s laugh shakes the moving car. 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me yet, Akaashi. Being in the restaurant business is all the more reason to love street food. I would eat yakitori for every meal if I could.”

Keiji tries to get only one skewer from the vendor, but Bokuto rejects that as the person paying for the meal, getting them both five. It’s an absurd amount of yakitori. Keiji eats more than he’s used to, and Bokuto has to finish the rest of his. 

“I’ve never seen a single person eat as much as you just did, Bokuto-san.” Keiji says. 

They’re sitting on a bench around the corner from the street food place. Konoha is parked in view, eating his own yakitori as he leans against the drivers’ door. 

“This is barely anything,” Bokuto replies with his mouth full. 

Keiji hands him a napkin. 

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” 

“I’m taking you to the movie theater.”

“There’s not some expensive dinner party you want to take me to?”

Bokuto shakes his head, wipes his mouth with the napkin. 

“I’m confused, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sits up. “I thought that’s what these days were for.”

“Kuroo likes those types of events more than me. I only go when I have to.” Bokuto tells him. 

Keiji doesn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious. Neither of those emotions seem right. It’s not like he wants to go eat dinner with wealthy perverts every week, but what else are they going to do?

Keiji feels stupid for his own rhetorical question. 

He’s forgetting what his job in this is. 

“Oh,” Keiji says. 

“Is that okay?” Bokuto looks up at him between mouthfuls. “We can go if you want!”

“No. I was just clarifying.” 

They see a movie Keiji hasn’t heard of in the middle of the afternoon. 

Bokuto keeps his hand on Keiji’s thigh the whole time. Nothing more, nothing less. 

When they stand up after it’s over, he feels Bokuto’s palm brush his ass. It could’ve been an accident. 

Could have. 

Thirty minutes after sundown, as Konoha drives them wherever Bokuto requested, Keiji’s anxiety becomes palpable. He can’t stop playing with his fingers, pulling on the turtleneck of his sweater. He wonders if he should’ve brought condoms. 

He wants to fall into his bed, but there are fourteen hours and forty-one minutes left. 

Or so he thought. 

They pull up outside his apartment building. 

Bokuto is pulling open his door before he can ask. 

“Do you have all your things?” 

“Bokuto-san, why are we here?” Keiji hesitantly steps out of the car. “The twenty-fours isn’t over.”

“I know. I’m bringing you home.” 

“Why?”

“You’ve been out all day. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” Keiji says. 

“And I’m telling you to rest.” 

Bokuto speaks firmly.

Keiji considers arguing. He decides against it, as Bokuto strokes his cheek. Here’s his chance to get into bed, and Bokuto is telling him to. 

He nods. 

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

He starts for the front doors. 

And then he turns back.

“I enjoyed being with you today.”

Bokuto waits on the sidewalk until Keiji gets inside the building. 

In the apartment, Kenma is immersed by his switch as Keiji comes in. He doesn’t look up. Keiji makes it to his bedroom, changing and heading for the bathroom to shower. 

He gets into bed. His thigh, the place where Bokuto had been, he rests his own hand on his skin there. 

As he falls asleep, he replays the day behind his eyelids. Everything Bokuto said. Everything Keiji didn’t say. 

There’s a notification on his phone when he wakes up. He slips his glasses on, groggy, opening the alert from his bank account. 

**_Bokuto Koutarou has transferred ¥100,000.00 into your account._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> konoha supremacy !!!!
> 
> here is the [bracelet](https://johanneshunter.com/14k-white-gold-ruby-and-diamond-bracelet/) bokuto gave akaash :) and yakitori is japanese skewered chicken for reference ^^ 
> 
> ** the ¥100,000 goes towards akaashi’s rent, necessities, and weekly allowance. bokuto is paying his tuition directly 💖 **
> 
> tbh ngl if bokuto told me i was good, i would probably die on the spot :3 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter :D feedback is always appreciated, and come say hi on tumblr or instagram anytime!! love you, love you, love you ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please please check out this [fanart of tetsu n bokuto](https://www.instagram.com/p/CLK4OZNF3QI/?igshid=1tgdvpmmqzhpu) !! or you can just look up her insta @/hermanthurmanc ,, but either way please support and love !!!!! i am so grateful oh my god :')

“Akaashi-san,” Kiyoko says. “What are you thinking about?” 

Keiji glances up at her. 

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“You seem distracted today.”

Keiji shuts the cash register, finished organizing what he needed to. 

“I have a lot of school work I should do tonight. That’s probably it.” 

“Don’t forget to sleep.” 

“I’ll try,” Keiji smiles. 

Kiyoko gives him a small nod. She turns back to the box she’s unloading. 

As soon as she does, Keiji’s smile fades. 

He  _ is  _ distracted. He just thought he was doing a better job at hiding it. 

Work usually helps, by giving his fingers something to do. But he finds himself staring at different tiles on the floor as he remembers that money sitting in his bank account. Each time he’s reminded of it, his ribcage shudders. 

It doesn’t help that he’s tired. He didn’t sleep very well last night. Waking up to that notification this morning, it was too much adrenaline much too early. 

Someone purchases lipstick in the shade of turtle. That’s also a distraction. 

Kiyoko leaves a few minutes early at the end of their shift. Keiji cleans up, greeting the employee scheduled to work after them. 

But on his way out of the mall, Keiji remembers that he needs more stationary, as he mentally goes through the assignments he does need to work on. He takes the escalator to a shop on the third floor. 

Like instinct, he heads to the clearance section in the back. 

His neck prickles. He picks up sticky notes and a pack of pencil lead. 

Keiji holds them tightly in his fingers, close to his chest. He focuses on the carpet as he heads to the front of the store. 

He isn’t careful enough, because something yellow catches his eye. He stops in front of the display. It’s a shelf of thick agenda books with cream paper. Beneath them, an assortment of washi tape and colored pens. 

Keiji digs his fingernail into his thumb.

He glances at the price tag on the agenda. 

Curiosity, that’s all.

¥3,000. 

He exhales through his nose. As if he would spend that much on something he doesn’t need. 

He pays for his things, content with the discounted prices. And he pays in cash. 

Just because he has a sugar daddy doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be frugal. 

But he barely makes it back to the elevator before something else distracts him. An expensive looking shirt in a display window. Red and snug, with a ribbon flouncing the collar. 

Curiosity, just one more time. 

¥15,000. 

Keiji’s fingers linger on the fabric. 

Red isn’t his color. Especially this kind of red, all bright and dignified. But it matches his bracelet. 

“Would you like to try it on?” An employee asks him. 

He really can’t believe himself as he nods. 

In the mirror, Keiji keeps a straight face. He’s just being polite to the employee, that’s all, curving his back to see how the shirt looks from different angles. 

The sleeve cuffs are pleated. He didn’t notice that on the mannequin. 

He doesn’t need this. 

Slipping the shirt over his shoulders, Keiji can’t think of a single reason as to why he would need to have it. 

Except for Bokuto. 

“You looked beautiful in that color,” the employee tells him, smiling. “I’m sure a special someone in your life would love it.” 

Keiji stiffens. 

For a moment, he panics. 

How does this stranger know about Bokuto? 

But he stops himself from spiraling with a deep breath.  _ She’s only assuming, Keiji.  _

“Thank you,” he forces. 

“Would you like me to wrap it up for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Keiji’s eyes widen as the words leave him. 

He must have been thinking about Bokuto’s eyes. Those eyes of his, and that red shirt hugging Keiji’s body. 

Curiosity, about how Bokuto would react to Keiji in that shirt. 

As he swipes his debit card, Keiji’s heart beats quickly. 

He worries it might be declined. 

The machine beeps at him to remove his card.

_ Payment successful.  _

Keiji’s heart continues to speed on his way out of the store. The bag feels heavy in the curve of his fingers. 

He isn’t sure how to feel, carrying such an expensive thing among all of these other people in the mall. People who, presumably, don’t have sugar daddies. 

Keiji thrills at that thought. 

Another store catches his eye. A milk white dress with lace peeking out below the hem sits in the display. 

¥26,500. 

Keiji doesn’t hesitate as much this time, before swiping his card. 

He loses track of the number of stores he steps into. The number of things he tries on with meek eyes. Each time, his heart races. Each time, he tugs at his fingers, wondering if the payment will go through.

It always does. 

He uses both arms to carry all of his bags on his way back to the apartment. 

His cheeks are red, and his fingers sore.

He must have at least spent ¥50,000 today. 

Stress is his most prominent emotion at first. If he’s going to have a sugar daddy, he should at least be saving any extra money. But that gives away to exhilaration, as Keiji thinks of Bokuto. Spending extra money for Bokuto isn’t immoral, is it? For both of them, assuming Bokuto likes what Keiji bought, and Keiji gets to run his hands over expensive fabric. 

Bokuto, running his hands over expensive fabric… 

“What did you buy?” Kenma asks. 

Keiji forgot to think through an excuse. 

“Just some things I need,” He says. He tries not to be too obvious, taking his shoes off quickly. 

Kenma watches him from the kitchen. His laptop is on the table, along with a notebook and messy handwriting. He’s still in his pajamas, though. Soft pants and a grey hoodie. One of the rare times Keiji ever sees him doing university work. 

Kenma yawns, and turns back to the bowl of cereal he was pouring. 

Keiji shuts his bedroom door behind him. He’s careful, putting all of his new things away in his closet. 

He considers taking pictures of himself wearing them. 

He sits on his bed until that thought passes. 

Finally out of his work uniform, Keiji sits down at his desk to work on assignments he’s been neglecting. He only gets up for tea or to use the bathroom for the rest of the evening. Until at some point in the middle of the night, he can’t focus on the book he’s supposed to be reading because of the noise. 

The faint, steady shudder of the apartment as Kenma is fucked over the couch. 

Kuroo has been making surprise visits lately. According to Kenma, it’s because Kuroo has been getting clingier. 

That’s fine. But Keiji doesn’t understand why they can’t do this at Kuroo’s house. Or his mansion, probably. 

Keiji would put his foot down if Bokuto tried to do that. 

That thought makes him lose his place on his page. 

He glances over at his closet. The new red shirt looks black. His throat feels tight, at the reminder of how much that shirt cost. 

But for the first time, his apprehension is joined by something else. 

Frustration. 

Is Bokuto really going to make him wait?

Keiji falls asleep poorly, listening to the couch creaking.

* * *

“Is that new blush?” Kiyoko asks during their next shift.

Keiji nods. 

“Yes. I bought it yesterday.”

“I like it,” She says. “That shade suits you.” 

“It was worth the cost, then.” 

Keiji resists any urges to splurge again after his shift. Even if he still has a surplus of money remaining in his account after he pays their bills that evening. Kenma doesn’t need to pay anything, really, but he gives Keiji his share like he always does. It’s Kuroo’s money, anyway. 

It’s a strange feeling. 

Otherwise, Keiji’s life is entirely normal. He goes to class in the morning, work in the afternoon, and does his homework in the evening. Bokuto indirectly pays for every meal, but it’s like he doesn’t exist otherwise. 

Keiji doesn’t hear from him. 

On Friday night, Keiji’s working on an essay in his bedroom when he hears Kenma leave with Kuroo. Kuroo fingered him before they left, if Keiji had to guess. Based on the sounds. 

He finishes his essay around eleven. It’s too late to do anything other than crawl into his bed, scroll aimlessly on his phone. 

When that gets boring, Keiji shuts his lamp off. 

He closes his eyes. 

He should be tired, but he isn’t. 

He opens his eyes.

What’s Kenma doing right now… Keiji wonders. 

He’s probably at another one of those events. He’s eating expensive food and sitting pretty as Kuroo talks. He told Keiji he won’t be coming home tonight, meaning he’s staying with Kuroo. Meaning he’s… 

Keiji thinks of Bokuto. 

His hand finds the place on his thigh where Bokuto touched him last. 

It’s startling. But he’s even more startled by the sudden heat growing in his lower abdomen. He gasps, softly. 

Delicate fingers slip under his waistband. 

His mind conjures up Bokuto in that short-sleeved shirt. 

Keiji brushes fingertips over his length, turning his head into his pillow. His toes curl, and the sheets rise as his knees bend. 

It’s been too long, if this is all it takes. 

Bokuto, in that black shirt he wore that time they saw each other at dinner. 

Keiji feels around for the lotion on his bedside table. 

_ “You’re the most beautiful boy I think I’ve ever seen.” _

Keiji’s hand trembles as he pumps himself, once. 

_ “You’re already being so good.” _

A small groan slips between bitten lips. His eyebrows quiver. 

_ Arms.  _

Keiji’s mind comes up with scenes of those arms straining above a mattress. Palms flat against sheets, Bokuto’s face, focused, sweating above Keiji’s writhing body. Those arms, holding them both up. Those thighs, rippling, and the muscles in his abdomen tightening and releasing. 

Keiji finds himself moving further back. His finger drags along his thigh, to that tight place he’s only touched a few times before. He bites the inside of his cheek as his fingertip edges in. 

_ God, _ it hurts. 

He pushes in more, imagining it’s Bokuto’s finger instead of his own. 

With his other hand, his fingers tighten around his cock. 

His orgasm pulses throughout his entire body. Keiji bites his pillow, his back rising off his bed. 

He stills. 

It takes a few more minutes for his breathing to calm. 

Keiji’s careful as he pulls his sheets back, mildly disgusted. He changes them, and then he showers. 

Getting back into bed, he falls asleep more easily than he has all week. 

Kenma still isn’t back when he wakes up.

That turns out to be a good thing, as Keiji checks their mailbox and finds a conspicuously large box waiting for him. 

There’s no need for a return address for Keiji to know who it’s from. 

He opens it carefully back in their kitchen. 

\-  _ Can’t wait to see you in this _

His outfit for Monday, Keiji presumes, picked out by Bokuto. Just like they agreed. 

He pulls the first piece out. 

Keiji blushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stationary makes me wet ,, and i hc that it makes keiji wet too   
> ALL THE PENS N NOTEBOOKS AND TAPE N EVERYTHING GOD FUCK  
> in other news, i am making the executive decision that "void" by the neighbourhood is the anthem of this fic *bows* idk i know iwaizumi is the og neighbourhood stan but i feel like akaash listens to them, too?? he def listens to bts at least. i have many thoughts on this 
> 
> akaash's new [shirt](https://www.ebay.com/itm/Womens-Long-Sleeves-Formal-Tops-High-Neck-Shirt-Blouse-Tops-Stand-Collar-new-/401752167794) is here and his [dress](https://www.yesstyle.com/en/poppy-love-turtleneck-long-sleeve-midi-lace-trim-dress/info.html/pid.1099557658##productAnchor) is here! he also bought a lot of other stuff too ofc :DD 
> 
> im going to be updating more often, at least once a week, now that im finished with my iwaoi fic !! thank you for sticking with me so far, and i hope you will continue to! ily ily ily ily


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a tennis outfit. 

Keiji can’t bring himself to look in the mirror. 

He tries to pull down the white pleated skirt, but it still hangs well above his knees. His legs are painfully bare, aside from white socks that rise above his ankles. He untucks the sleeveless top. He tucks it back in. It doesn’t make much of a difference. 

Bokuto even went so far as to provide a pair of white tennis sneakers. 

All of it, the same shade of dove white. 

There’s a headband at the bottom of the box. 

Keiji draws the line at that. 

He sits down on the edge of his bed. His hands are white too, clenched in his lap. 

It’s tempting to rip these clothes off and pick something decent out of his closet. Keiji entertains the idea for a moment or two, but they already compromised on this. 

And Bokuto is, after all, the reason Keiji has a closet full of new clothes to begin with. 

Keiji closes his eyes and exhales. 

He can handle it for a day. 

_Tuition, tuition, tuition._

Fifteen minutes before Bokuto is supposed to arrive, Keiji makes sure Kenma is still asleep before slipping into the bathroom. 

Against the white, Keiji’s cheeks are blood roses. 

He stares, horrified. 

The buzzer rings. 

Bokuto is early. 

Keiji rushes to stop the noise, his fingers quivering as he grabs his bag from his bedroom on quiet feet. He grabs a jacket, even though it’s too warm for a jacket. 

He doesn’t have time to change now if he wanted to. 

Bokuto is waiting with the car door held open like last week. 

“Akaashi!”

Keiji doesn’t look at him as he gets into the backseat as quickly as possible. 

He’s especially grateful for the tinted windows today. 

Keiji sits with his hands nestled beneath his thighs, staring at his exposed knees as Bokuto gets in beside him. 

“It fits!” Bokuto exclaims. 

He sounds too happy about it, in Keiji’s opinion. 

“Yes,” Keiji says. “It does.” He doesn’t want to imagine how red his face must be. 

“Is it comfortable? Not too tight or anything?”

The car pulls onto the road. 

“It’s… a bit short.”

Bokuto laughs. His hand comes down on Keiji’s thigh, gently, and he rubs his fingers into his soft skin there.

Keiji gasps. 

He immediately covers his mouth, but it’s too late. His cheeks burn. His neck feels hot, all red and embarrassed. 

It’s almost worse, how Bokuto pretends not to have heard it. 

“Trust me,” Bokuto says. “You’ll appreciate the length once we start moving.”

Keiji looks at him, for the first time today.

“Moving?” He asks. 

“When we get to the tennis courts.”

“We’re playing tennis?”

“Of course we are!” Bokuto squeezes his thigh. “Why else would I have sent you that outfit for today?” 

Keiji can think of quite a few reasons.

But it’s mildly relieving knowing he’s wearing a tennis skirt to play tennis at least. 

Then again, Bokuto is also dressed for tennis, in a pair of white joggers and a sweatshirt. There’s even a visor wrapped around his head. Keiji could have worn the same thing.

“Have you ever played tennis before, Akaashi?” 

“A little. I played with my mom sometimes when I was in high school.”

“That’s a relief.”

“How come?”

“I barely know how to play.”

Keiji stares out the window as minutes pass. Bokuto talks about business and the Perch, how work has been over the last week, but Keiji can’t focus as it dawns on him where they’re going.

Tennis courts. There are people at tennis courts, and Keiji is wearing a mini skirt. His anxiety builds, overruns him with hypotheticals that are only broken by Bokuto periodically rubbing his thigh. 

When they arrive, Keiji breathes again.

Of course it’s a private tennis court. 

Something tells him, although Keiji doesn’t know what, that Bokuto wouldn’t take him into public if he thought Keiji would be uncomfortable. Something. 

“Do you own these courts?” Keiji asks. 

“A business associate does. But he lets me come here whenever I ask.”

Bokuto hands Keiji a racket as he steps out of the car. 

And he wasn’t kidding, Keiji soon finds out, when Bokuto said he barely knows how to play. He keeps serving from the wrong place, and cheering as if he scored even when it was very clearly Keiji’s point. Keiji doesn’t correct him.

He can’t bring himself to tell Bokuto he didn’t score when his face is glowing like that. 

But soon after they begin their second match, Bokuto’s natural athletic ability kicks in. He has Keiji running from one end to another, reaching with his racket outstretched. Keiji even dives at one point, but regrets it as soon as he feels his skirt fly up. 

Keiji has never once put this much effort into something as trivial as sports. It must be something about playing with Bokuto. 

Anyone would work a little harder, playing against Bokuto, Keiji decides. 

And while the skirt bothered him a lot more when they first started playing, how it hikes up his thighs with every step he takes, it ends up being surprisingly comfortable. He feels like he can run faster, the way it sways around his hips. 

He knows Bokuto is watching as they play. 

It’s almost a tangible feeling. 

Keiji... doesn’t mind it. 

“Man, you’re good, Akaashi!” Bokuto heaves between sets. 

“You’re not bad, either, Bokuto-san,” Keiji picks at the frame of the racket, out of breath. “You should give yourself more credit.”

“You think so?” 

“I do.”

Keiji looks down at his white sneakers. At his shoelaces. 

Bokuto lets out a sigh that makes him look back up. 

Keiji’s fingers tighten around his racket, as Bokuto pulls his sweatshirt over his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath, a white t-shirt. It hugs his torso wonderfully. And the sleeves…

Bokuto lets out another sigh as he tosses his sweatshirt off the court. He’s sweating, glistening neck muscles, and his hair gel loosens with the moisture, so that bangs wisp against his forehead. He stretches out his arms behind him, bending and twisting in all sorts of lovely ways with his racket in hand. 

He serves, and Keiji forgets to move. 

Bokuto laughs out loud as Keiji hurries to retrieve the ball. 

Keiji loses track of the number of sets they play. It’s just the two of them, back and forth. Hours must pass, before Bokuto props himself up with his racket and declares he needs a cold shower. 

He refills both of their water bottles and brings a cool towel for Keiji’s neck. It’s Bokuto’s own towel, Keiji notices. Bokuto says he doesn’t need one. 

“Good game! Maybe you’ll win next time, Akaashi,” Bokuto grins, tipping his water bottle from his lips. 

“We’ll see,” Keiji says, even though he won more sets than Bokuto did. 

Keiji collects all of their things and follows Bokuto across the private lawn. He assumes they’re heading to a locker room of sorts, with a shower and change of clothes, but Bokuto waves at Konoha waiting in the car. 

“Where are we going?” Keiji asks. 

“Back to my place. You can shower before me.”

Something cold trickles down Keiji’s spine. 

“Where to, Bokuto-san?” Konoha asks once they’re settled. 

“Home!” Bokuto says.

Bokuto’s place. Keiji and Bokuto, alone. Bokuto’s shower. 

His bedroom.

Keiji sits, rigid, as he thinks about Bokuto’s bedroom. His arm is warm from the heat radiating off Bokuto’s worn body. 

While Bokuto tells Konoha about tennis, Keiji risks a glance. 

All that sweat dripping down all of that muscle is even better up close. And Bokuto’s hair is almost completely down now. He smells like cologne. 

Keiji didn’t notice it before, either, but Bokuto looks good in these track pants. 

His thighs fit snugly, but not too tight.

So do other parts of him.

Keiji focuses on the floor instead, and his breathing. 

He doesn’t think he’s stopped blushing since he pulled the skirt out of the box. 

“How do you like the outfit now?” Bokuto asks.

Keiji pulls at the hem of his skirt. “It’s surprisingly comfortable.” 

“Right? I thought it would be.”

Keiji pulls on his finger.

“...Do you like it, Bokuto-san?”

He doesn’t know where this is coming from, but he looks over at Bokuto. 

The adrenaline makes the edge of his vision pink. 

Bokuto’s expression is blank, for a moment. Maybe surprised. And then he smiles, chuckles in his nose.

“I tried to imagine what you would look like in this skirt when I first saw it, but my imagination didn’t do you justice.” 

He leans towards Keiji. A hand slips onto his thigh again. 

Keiji manages to keep his breath in his throat.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Keiji says. “Do you like it, Bokuto-san?” 

Bokuto’s finger slips up, under the skirt. 

“I love it.”

Keiji digs his fingers into the leather of his seat. 

It requires everything to keep himself from flinching, and his thighs still. 

He has to look away, after a minute, because Bokuto’s eyes are too strong. 

But Bokuto’s hand doesn’t move further. 

A half an hour later, they arrive at a tall building in the city. It’s clearly a high-end apartment complex, surrounded by equally high-end shops and restaurants. Keiji feels out of place, like he usually does with Bokuto. 

Konoha lets them out in front of the building. 

And as soon as Bokuto helps Keiji onto the sidewalk, the air on the back of his legs reminds him of how he’s dressed. His anxiety returns in full force. 

A suited man is waiting with the doors held open for them.

“After you,” Bokuto gestures, and Keiji ducks his head as he hurries inside. 

But a hand on his lower back makes him jolt, stumble, with flushed cheeks and hatred for how short this skirt is. He clings onto the first thing he feels to save himself from further embarrassment. 

Bokuto looks down at him, blinking. 

By the time Keiji realizes he’s clutching Bokuto’s arm, his body feels like lead. 

“Are you alright? That was just me, did I startle you?” 

Keiji’s fingers, wrapped around Bokuto’s exposed muscles. He can feel the faintest pulse of his veins, the leftover buzz of exercise, and warmth Keiji is sure Bokuto always gives off. His skin is softer than Keiji imagined it would be. But it’s firm where Keiji presses down. 

“Akaashi?”

“I’m sorry,” Keiji blurts, abruptly coming back to his senses. “I’m fine.”

He pulls away, like Bokuto is a flame. 

“Don’t apologize.”

Keiji’s fists clutch the skirt on either side of him. He keeps his head down, and quickly readjusts when he realizes his toes are pointed inwards like a child. 

He jerks his head up as Bokuto wraps an arm around his waist. 

Bokuto brushes one of his curls back with his other hand. 

“Relax,” Bokuto murmurs. “It’s just me.”

Another man in a dark suit bows to them both at the elevator. He presses the ‘up’ button, and joins them inside. There are fifty-four floors, based on the number of LED buttons on the panel. The man slips a small key beside the highest button.

“Penthouse” flashes in digital characters. 

Of course. 

Bokuto lives in one of the most expensive penthouses in Tokyo. 

But it’s strange, as the elevator opens in a small room Keiji can only assume to be a genkan of sorts. Two men in similar suits are waiting. 

They bow. 

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” one of them says. “Akaashi-san. It’s good to meet you.”

“Now don’t intimate him,” Bokuto laughs. His hand comes down on one of the men’s shoulders. Hard. “Don’t mind these two, Akaashi. They’re just a little extra security.” 

Keiji has never heard of such a thing. He doesn’t waste time questioning it, in this skirt. 

Bokuto shuts and locks the door behind them. 

Finally, they have privacy. 

“This is it!” Bokuto announces, slipping his shoes off and stretching as he walks into the suite. “Make yourself at home, Akaashi, please. You don’t need to ask permission for anything, alright? The kitchen, fridge, TV, whatever you want, don’t hesitate to help yourself.” He looks over his shoulder at Keiji, without an ounce of insincerity in that smile. 

“Thank you.”

“You can put your things anywhere. Let’s see… Oh, let me show you to the bathroom.”

Bokuto flips on lights as they walk through the apartment, leading them to the largest bathroom Keiji has ever seen. 

A granite counter holds two sinks, across from a jacuzzi-style bathtub nestled in the corner, like a piece of art rather than a tub. The walk-in shower is on the other end of the room, past an intricate rug on the floor and a small, potted tree. Orchids decorate what appears to just be a counter on the other wall, beneath a crystal-lined mirror. 

Keiji isn’t sure he should be allowed inside.

“Are you sure, Bokuto-san? You can bathe first, I don’t mind.”

“Not at all! You’re my guest, please.” Bokuto waves his hand. 

Keiji suddenly feels small, standing in such a grand room. But more so because Bokuto is beside him. Alone in his apartment, Keiji feels like Bokuto is taller, broader somehow. 

He could reach and touch Keiji, and Keiji wouldn’t move. 

“Again, help yourself to anything here. I’ll leave a change of clothes outside the door.” 

Keiji nods. 

Bokuto runs the edge of his thumb over Keiji’s cheekbone, like there’s something there.

Keiji doesn’t move. 

The door shuts behind Bokuto with a small click. 

At first, Keiji isn’t sure what to do. He’s hesitant, as he runs fingers along the wall, the rim of the bathtub, inspecting the label on the French soap. He opens one drawer and finds a diverse collection of lotions, and another drawer filled with organic bar soap. 

He picks out small bottles of shampoo and conditioner. The soap looks too expensive… But after a moment of intense mental deliberation, he chooses a bar that smells like lavender. 

How he’s supposed to turn the shower on is another struggle entirely. Especially when his eyes keep wandering back to the bath. 

No… 

Keiji narrows his eyes at the porcelain designs engraved on the side of the tub. 

He really shouldn’t… 

His hand slips, probably, as he’s looking at how shiny the faucets are and warm water starts pouring out. 

It’s the best bath Keiji’s ever had. 

But he sits with his arms around his knees for most of it, because he’s naked in Bokuto’s apartment, he reminds himself. Even with the door shut and locked, he feels vulnerable. 

When he’s finished, there’s a neat pile of clothes waiting just like Bokuto said there would be, along with a bottle of water, a toothbrush, deodorant, a new comb, and a small sticky note on top of it all. Scribbled, a happy face. 

Keiji smiles to himself.

He smiles more, out of relief, as he unfolds the very normal outfit Bokuto gave him. Black skinny jeans and a white dress shirt. 

The only issue is the shirt is too big. 

It takes Keiji a minute to realize that’s because it’s Bokuto’s shirt. 

He tries to roll the sleeves, but it just looks ridiculous all bunched up on his thin arms. Tucking it in also looks weird, so he leaves it hanging around his thighs. And even with it buttoned up to his collar, his neck drowns. 

He unrolls the sleeves. They hang well past his wrists. 

His face burns as he steps out of the bathroom.

“Bokuto-san?” 

“In the kitchen!”

Bokuto has a couple different recipe books splayed in front of him. When he sees Keiji, a grin breaks over his face. 

“The shirt is a bit much,” Keiji manages to say. 

“What are you talking about? You look adorable!” 

Bokuto says it so simply, so decidedly, Keiji doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn’t have time to speak, or blink, before Bokuto is in front of him, adjusting his collar. One of his fingers brushes Keiji’s chin in the process. 

“Was your bath okay?” Bokuto asks. “Need anything else?” 

“It-It was lovely.” Keiji swallows. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

He can’t think straight. Bokuto’s broad shoulders flexing as he straightens the shirt around Keiji’s waist. Keiji can’t think at all. 

Bokuto gently pulls him into his chest. He rests his nose in Keiji’s damp curls. 

“You smell amazing, Akaashi.” He sighs. His breath, warm, against Keiji’s head. “Like lavender.” His hands move delicately down Keiji’s spine. 

Keiji’s forehead falls against Bokuto’s chest. He gasps, quiet this time. 

Alone, the contract, big shirt. 

Adrenaline replaces his blood but he still can’t think. 

Keiji’s skin rolls even though there’s a layer of fabric between him and Bokuto’s fingers. He slumps forward more, digs into Bokuto’s chest with quivering hands. Whether his eyes are opened or closed, it’s dark. 

As Bokuto gets to the hem of his shirt, though, his hands retreat. 

Keiji lets out an involuntary breath. 

“Be good while I’m in the shower.” Bokuto says. “I’ll be out soon.”

He leaves Keiji standing in the kitchen. 

A minute or two, and then the shower turns on.

Keiji stands, squeezing his fingers, until he calms down enough to find Bokuto’s velvet couch. He sits on the edge of one cushion, with his hands in his lap for a while.

_Get it together, Keiji._

He sinks back into the couch. The most comfortable couch he’s ever sat on.

He looks around. 

Most everything is some combination of black, white, grey, or gold. The coffee table, abstract art on the wall. There’s a little glass bowl filled with pebbles and another orchid on display. Bokuto must like orchids, Keiji thinks. 

And amidst the modern decoration of vases, crystal, souvenirs he must have collected from abroad, there are pockets of Bokuto. A pinball machine in one corner Keiji didn’t notice. Video games shoved beneath the flatscreen TV. And candy, glass bowls filled with candy on almost every surface. 

Keiji reaches for one of the bowls on the coffee table. He pops something pink into his mouth. 

It dissolves into sugar on his tongue. 

Keiji notices some pictures propped up on a table beside the TV. He takes another candy and stands up to look at them. 

They’re pictures of Bokuto from high school. He was an athlete. 

Keiji picks one up. He runs a finger along the frame. 

Maybe that’s Bokuto’s mother, if Keiji had to guess. 

A different picture shows Bokuto and Kuroo at some sort of event together, with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. 

“Oh, you found my school pictures. I don’t look much different, do I?” Bokuto laughs behind Keiji. 

Keiji wishes he didn’t turn around. 

Bokuto is shirtless. There’s a white towel around his waist, and another draped around his neck. The towel doesn’t do a good job of covering his thighs. Water drips down his hair onto his chest. 

Keiji quickly looks back at the photos. 

“That’s from a baseball game Kuroo and I went to last year.” Bokuto comes up beside him. “A business partner of ours gave us tickets.”

Keiji can smell expensive lotion on Bokuto’s skin. 

“I see.” Keiji says. 

“And that’s from high school. I was the captain of my volleyball team.” 

“Volleyball?”

“Yeah! Volleyball was my life back then.”

Bokuto reaches over Keiji’s shoulder to adjust one of the frames. 

So warm.

“I’m gonna start making dinner,” Bokuto clears his throat. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“Anything is fine.” 

“It’ll be ready in about an hour then!”

Keiji finds it interesting that Bokuto doesn’t bring in a private chef to cook for them. He could easily afford to, but after he puts some clothes on (to Keiji’s dismay), he returns to his cookbooks. 

“Do you like cooking, Bokuto-san?” Keiji rests his hands on the counter across from him. 

“Not when I’m alone,” he pulls out a cutting board. “But if I’m doing it for someone else, absolutely.” 

Keiji watches him slice into a bell pepper. 

“What are you making?”

Bokuto’s eyes flash up at him. “You’ll have to find out.”

For most of the time Bokuto’s cooking, all Keiji knows is it smells good, whatever it is. Bokuto seems to love it. Cooking for someone else, like he said. 

Keiji catches him looking for praise every so often, which he gives. 

“You’re very skilled with a knife, Bokuto-san.”

“I have a lot of practice!”

And it occurs to Keiji that he doesn’t feel like he’s at his sugar daddy’s penthouse. 

He just feels like he’s making dinner with Bokuto, and the kitchen is warm. 

They watch a movie while they eat, which Keiji wasn’t expecting. He was, however, expecting the movie Bokuto picked to be action-packed. But during the romantic parts, Bokuto’s eyes soften, too. 

It’s dark out, when they finish eating. 

Keiji keeps waiting for Bokuto to touch him during the remainder of the movie. 

He doesn’t. 

The credits roll on screen. 

“I’ll get us some wine,” Bokuto says. 

He gets up with their dishes, to the sink where Keiji hears the clink of the dishwasher, the fridge as Bokuto puts things away. 

Keiji sits up on the couch. He pulls his legs underneath him. His fingers poke out of Bokuto’s sleeves. Sitting like this, it’s hard to tell he’s wearing pants, with Bokuto’s shirt spilling over his thighs. 

Something Keiji’s been thinking about solidifies in his mind. 

Bokuto is a good person. 

A really genuine person. 

Keiji thinks he’s starting to be sure of that, now. 

Bokuto returns with two glasses of red in hand. He sighs, as he sits down beside Keiji. A bit closer than before, but they still aren’t touching. 

Keiji tips the glass to his lips. 

Bokuto does the same, and drapes his arm across the back of the couch. 

“Have you had a good day so far?” He asks. 

“I have. Your cooking is amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so!”

Keiji holds his glass with both hands.

“You know, Bokuto-san,” he looks at him, then away. “This is all new to me, so I didn’t really know what to expect. But I guess I’m… Surprised. We’ve done pretty ordinary things together.” 

“Ordinary things, huh?”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Keiji adds. “Just that it’s interesting.”

Bokuto grins. “I’m sure I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Keiji nods. He takes another small sip. Bokuto is watching him, like he usually is. 

“Gah…” Bokuto holds his glass in front of his lips.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Too cute.” He shakes his head. “Just too cute. I’ve said that before, right? And pretty, too. You’re gonna kill me, Akaashi.” 

Keiji’s trapped again, by Bokuto’s eyes. 

“Thank you.”

“You look even prettier in my clothes.” Bokuto sets his glass on the coffee table. “I didn’t have anything that would fit you lying around, but that’s the smallest shirt I own. I hope it isn’t uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine.”

“Good.”

“But are you always going to have me wear your clothes, Bokuto-san?”

Cheeky. 

Bokuto squeezes the couch as he laughs. 

“If you always look this good, then I might.” 

“Well…” Keiji feels more comfortable when he makes Bokuto laugh. “It’s better than the tennis skirt.”

“What? Oh, come on, you said it was comfortable!” Bokuto moves closer to him. 

Keiji covers his own small giggle with the back of his hand. He’s red, again. 

“Hey, don’t cover that,” Bokuto gently tugs at Keiji’s hand. “I haven’t seen you smile.” 

Even closer. 

Keiji’s frozen, with Bokuto this close. And he’s only vaguely aware of what’s happening, as Bokuto’s other hand comes up beneath his jaw. 

He shuts his eyes. 

Warm, and then Bokuto kisses him. 

Keiji overdoses on adrenaline when he feels Bokuto’s lips at first. But Bokuto rubbing into his cheek, with Bokuto keeping it all so simple, he can control his trembling after a few seconds. 

Just his lips. 

Bokuto pulls away.

Keiji opens his eyes.

He’s less frazzled as Bokuto kisses him again. 

The couch strains beneath Bokuto readjusting, shifting up onto his knees. Keiji does little moving on his own, other than following where Bokuto’s hands tell him to go. 

He can handle this. 

Bokuto’s hands wander down his sides. Keiji’s eyes fly open.

He doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

Bokuto breaks their kiss long enough for Keiji to breathe, but his hands keep getting lower. When he gets to the edge of Keiji’s shirt, his fingers go underneath. 

Keiji rolls back against the couch, seething through his teeth. 

Bokuto is kissing him again. 

Warm hands brush over his waist. Keiji lurches, but he’s held in place by Bokuto and the couch, and his fingernails find Bokuto’s shoulder blades. 

Bokuto groans into his mouth. 

“God, Akaashi,” he breathes. “You fit right in my hands.” He brushes his fingertips along Keiji’s stomach. 

Keiji wouldn’t have anything to say to that, if he could speak. 

A noise he didn’t know he was capable of making leaps out of his mouth as Bokuto reaches his nipples. Bokuto kisses him before he can moan again. 

Another unfamiliar feeling, Bokuto’s tongue pressing against his bottom lip. 

He lets him, and he lets Bokuto lick into his mouth. 

But just as soon as he started, Bokuto pulls his hands out of Keiji’s shirt. His tongue retreats, and he kisses Keiji on the lips, on his nose, a few kisses down his neck that make Keiji’s toes dig into the couch. 

Then Bokuto sits back. 

Keiji pants. 

“You okay?” Bokuto murmurs.

He pushes his hand through Keiji’s hair. 

Keiji realizes his mouth is hanging open and closes it. He nods. 

“Good,” Bokuto stands, and pulls up Keiji with him by his underarms. “That’s it, good.” He smooths out Keiji’s shirt, smiling sweet. “Let’s get you home.” 

“What?” Keiji’s still dazed, but he puts his hands on Bokuto’s chest. “Already?”

“I know, baby.” Bokuto cups his face with one hand.“But you remember what I said, about not overwhelming you?” He touches Keiji’s bottom lip. “I feel like you might break if I’m not careful enough.”

“I won’t,” Keiji blurts. 

Bokuto kisses Keiji’s forehead. 

“Let me help you get all your things.”

Keiji ends up feeling thankful, once they’re in the car, that Bokuto stopped. And embarrassed, that he was acting so desperate. 

On the way home, Bokuto keeps his hands to himself. 

Keiji... feels irritated about that. 

“I’ll see you next week, Akaashi,” Bokuto says out the window. 

Keiji nods at him from the sidewalk. 

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

He hurries up to his apartment, paranoid that his makeup and hair give away what he’s been doing all evening. 

It’s not until his key is in the lock, that Keiji freezes.

What did Bokuto call him?

_Baby._

Keiji goes straight to his bedroom. He falls on his mattress, and buries his face in his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long update this time :DD  
> here's akaash's [tennis outfit](https://pin.it/39bvGfL) !!! except there are 2 ref links this time, including [this one](https://pin.it/6QSixD4) (for his shoes n socks) !!  
> ok but keiji,,,, in bokuto's oversized clothes,,,,, *screams* !!!! hope you liked this one, and i'll have the next one up in the next few days ^^  
> you are precious <3


	8. Chapter 8

“Akaashi.” Kenma says. 

“Hm?”

“You have another package from Bokuto-san.”

“I do?” 

Keiji doesn’t look up from the article on his phone, rocking his coffee mug lightly. His index finger rests on his lips. But then he pauses. 

“What?” 

He looks up so quickly his coffee spills across the counter.

“How do you know it’s from Bokuto-san?” 

Kenma yawns and rubs his nose, setting two large paper bags on a clean part of the counter. Two bags, that were very clearly sent by Bokuto, and very clearly have Keiji’s name printed on the sides.

Keiji stands, paralyzed.

“You spilled your coffee.” Kenma tells him. 

It takes another second or two for Keiji’s body to react. Heat, hot, on his toes. He trips back, ringing out his fingers.

“Kenma, how-” Keiji gropes around the sink for a dish towel. “How do you know this is from Bokuto-san?” He fumbles, over his words, his hands shaking as he tries to mop up the coffee. 

“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

They lock eyes. 

Keiji, his turquoise. And Kenma, that unwavering gold. 

Keiji sets down the dish towel. His fingers curl around the cloth. 

“How long have you known?” 

“The beginning.”

“How?”

“Kuroo’s clingy. He tells me everything.” Kenma walks behind Keiji, pouring the rest of the coffee in the pot into a different mug. “And even if he didn’t, it’s not like I don’t see the gifts you get. It’s the same thing Tetsu does.” He pours a gross amount of creamer into his cup. “And the new clothes.”

“You were in my closet?”  
“I had to get something out of your room.”

“Then why didn’t you say something before?”

“You were being so secretive. I wanted to see how long it would go on. Now it’s boring.”

Keiji watches Kenma carefully. As usual, his expression is blank. 

“I’m just trying it out. It’s not serious. Purely for the financial aspect.” Keiji says. “Bokuto-san offered to pay for everything. But I’m still working.”

“I think signing a contract sort of makes it serious by default.” 

“You know about that, too?” Keiji flushes. 

“Tetsu’s the one who helped Bokuto-san write the contract.”

“He… He did?”

Keiji knows he shouldn’t be surprised. About any of it, because Kenma always knows more than he lets on, and Kuroo seems to be Bokuto’s closest friend. Still, he’s uneasy. 

Not because Kenma knows, but because someone knows. And someone knowing makes it real. 

Kenma picks up his switch off the couch, his coffee in his other hand. Off to spend the morning gaming in his bedroom, presumably, until he has class. 

It’s Wednesday.

But Kenma stops just before the hallway. 

“Bokuto-san…” He stares down at the black screen in his hands. “He talks to Kuroo a lot because of business, so I see him sometimes. He always asks about you.”

Keiji can’t think of anything to say. 

Kenma disappears into his bedroom. 

The coffee is all cleaned up. Keiji wipes the counter and the floor with a wet cloth one more time, just to be sure. He puts another pot on. He won’t calm down without caffeine. 

As the coffee brews, he remembers the bag. He touches his finger to his lips. 

Today’s gift from Bokuto. 

But rather than jewelry or clothing inside, Keiji finds food. He pulls out several tubs of pre-prepared food, marked with days of the week, some labeled as breakfast or dinner or as a snack. 

It’s clear this is food from the Perch. 

Keiji pulls out the sticky note at the bottom of the bag. 

_\- Remember to eat!!!_

He peeks into one of the containers. Fresh, like it was made this morning. Keiji’s mouth waters a little. He hasn’t eaten yet today.

He pulls out of a pair of chopsticks. One of the containers labeled for lunch. 

The food is still warm, as it touches his lips. 

And it’s good. Keiji chews slowly, and picks up another bite. 

The sticky note, curled in his hand. 

Is it okay to feel like this? 

* * *

_“So good, kitten.”_ Kuroo groans through clenched teeth. 

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of Kenma’s thighs. Kenma winces, as Kuroo’s fingernails scrape the marks he left earlier today, but it’s not a bad feeling. 

Kenma grips the couch to keep his own sanity. He can barely bend his fingers though, or do anything other than reach, weakly. 

He already came twice. 

Pleasure, rolling to his fingertips and receding only to do it again, and again, with each of Kuroo’s thrusts. Relentlessly. It’s always overstimulation to the point of torture, with Kuroo. 

Kenma can’t get enough of it. 

_“Fuck,”_ Kuroo inhales sharply. 

His nails scrape up, clutching at Kenma’s hips.

Kenma lets his head drop forward. He clenches his teeth, whimpering. His hair spills on either side of his face. It blocks his peripheral vision, and rocks back and forth in sharp, staccato motion. Dripping sweat. His whole body. 

Kuroo is close.

The couch creaks obnoxiously. 

As Kuroo cums, he yanks Kenma’s hair back. 

Kenma loves it when he does that. 

Kuroo leans over Kenma’s shoulder, the both of them panting. He lets go of Kenma’s hair to brush it behind his ear. Uncharacteristically gentle. 

“I think…” Kuroo murmurs between breaths. “That was worth 50,000.” 

His tongue is hot on Kenma’s ear. 

Kenma rolls back on Kuroo’s dick. 

Kuroo sucks in a breath.

“100,000.” Kenma says. 

Kuroo smirks.

“Always so greedy.” 

He’s slow as he pulls out, finally freeing Kenma from the uncomfortable configuration of his body splayed over the back of the couch. 

Kenma pulls his dress back down. Slinky and black, with fabric that clings to his skin but gives Kuroo easy access. His back hurts, and he stumbles as he tries to stand up straight. 

Kuroo is impatient as much as he’s clingy. Kenma realized that soon after their agreement. 

He always fucks Kenma a few times before they make it to his bedroom. Draped over the couch, on the counter, up against the wall, Kuroo shoving Kenma’s dress up and only undoing his pants enough to get his dick out. Already hard, since the middle of dinner probably, and Kenma, already prepped from the car ride back. 

Kuroo slumps down onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. Kenma follows, brushing fingers through his damp hair.

He can feel Kuroo’s cum leaking down his thighs. 

Kuroo said he doesn’t like condoms, because he likes how his cum looks dripping down Kenma’s legs. 

Kenma fucking loves it. 

In fact, there are a lot of things that Kenma enjoys. He just doesn’t tell Kuroo that. 

Kuroo pops the bottle of wine sitting on the granite table in front of them, pouring two glasses. Kenma tucks himself into Kuroo’s side. 

He hugs his knees to his chest. This position hurts the least. 

Kuroo kisses the top of his head as he hands him a glass. 

“Sorry dinner was longer than usual,” Kuroo says. “Those guys never stop talking.”

“I don’t care.” Kenma runs his finger along the rim of his glass. “I wasn’t the one who was horny the whole time.”

“Can you blame me? Time moves slower when you’re sitting next to a pretty boy you want to rip the clothes off of.” He drags a fingertip up under Kenma’s chin. “It’s torture. Have some sympathy.” 

“I’m sure it is.”

Kuroo hums. He narrows his eyes, and drops his finger. 

“I wonder how Kou’s holding up.” Kuroo takes a sip. “He has much more self control than I do.”

“I can see that.”

“How’s Akaashi-san handling him?”

“I don’t know.” Kenma yawns. “He doesn’t talk about him. Bokuto-san sends a lot of gifts. More than you.”

“What?” Kuroo seems personally offended. “I can’t have that bastard one-upping me.”

“But I think Akaashi likes him. He’s had more energy lately.”

Kuroo laughs. “I would have guessed he’d be exhausted by that guy.” 

“They’ve only been doing this for a couple weeks.”

“Well, I guess Kou’s going easy on him. That’s good to hear.” 

Kenma curls his toes into the couch. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I hope Akaashi-san is prepared for what he’s gotten himself into.” Kuroo readjusts, wrapping an arm around Kenma. “There’s a lot under the surface with him, with Bokuto. You think you know everything about him until you don’t.” He traces Kenma’s cheekbone. “Until you realize what he’s capable of.” He smiles. “You know how he is.”

“I know.” 

The wine isn’t bitter enough. 

Kenma tastes it on Kuroo’s tongue as he kisses him. It’s not long before Kuroo is pulling him up by the waist, lifting Kenma into his arms and coaxing his legs to wrap around his torso. Kenma’s head falls back, as Kuroo bites his neck. 

To his bedroom. 

Kenma knows, the night is only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may notice i added a warning for depictions of violence - said violence won’t happen for a long time but i wanted to go ahead and warn you 🥺 on that note, i just want to be perfectly clear that this isn’t a wholesome fic. there are wholesome moments and feelings and butterflies and tenderness, but i hope you can read through the lines with bokuto, and kuroo to an extent. and of course, this is an eventual yakuza au. like kuroo said, there’s a lot to bokuto that doesn’t immediately meet the eye. i hope everyone understands 🖤
> 
> [kenma dress !!!](https://www.isawitfirst.com/products/slinky-wear-me-any-way-plunge-maxi-dress-black-jl47525) (don't you think he would look so good in this???) 
> 
> i know i know this chp is short but next chapter will be long and nutritious !!! i promise :D 💞 
> 
> (( also thank you so much for every single comment and bookmark and kudos, it makes this fic even more enjoyable to write than it already is. i love each of you so, so, so much ))


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